


Tariro

by Sivvus



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, The Immortals - Tamora Pierce, The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Bandits & Outlaws, Betrayal, Blackmail, Character Death, F/M, Immortals, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mystery, Non Canonical Immortal, Parent-Child Relationship, Partner Betrayal, Protectiveness, Puzzles, Romance, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 144,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2086284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sivvus/pseuds/Sivvus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daine and Numair are sent to spy on two warring factions of bandits in a land of secrets, where even the Gift can fail. When the bandits start a civil war, they must choose whether to fight one another or betray their true allegiance. D/N.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

_Everyone had encountered bandits at some point in their life. If they hadn’t been attacked, or robbed by them, then a friend would have been. Every country was united in a sense of fear that ran among the people- the same fear whether they were thinking of the pony-trekking bandits who lived in the mountains of Galla, or the sailors who flitted among the coasts of Tortall and the Yamini islands. But it wasn’t until the new land was discovered, soon after the horrors of the Immortals War, that this fear crystallised into something real. As the kings and queens of each country turned a blind eye, focused on rebuilding their countries, the outcasts of their world began to unite. A chance sighting of an unchartered island was all it took, and suddenly the bandits, with their complex systems of communication, were building a country of their own._

_And the new fear had a name- the name the bandits had given the island: Tariro._

_Tariro was discovered almost by accident, and like most accidents it was largely ignored. The island was nearly unreachable, its shores were inhospitable, and its cliffs were forbidding. The island was small- tinier even than the smallest of the Yamani islands- but without the lush vibrancy of its neighbours. Barren rock and slate rose into the centre of the island and didn’t descend, dropping down into sharp cliffs exactly where the island met the sea. The bandits began their plans to start a colony there, and the other countries let them; the dangers of its terrain and new inhabitants, and the worthlessness of the island for anything other than space, were enough for them to steer clear. Within the bounds of their indifference, the bandits began to leave._

_Ships began to head across the sea._

_It wasn’t until these same ships returned with the rumours that the fear began._


	2. Two Factions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This means... it means that even if we find each other, we’ll have to pretend to hate each other, or even fight each other, and not talk or be together, all to convince bandits... murderers... that we’re one of them.”

Daine leaned against the side of the ship, staring at the vanishing shoreline and feeling utterly, utterly alone. She raised her hand absently to her necklace, and then remembered that even that wasn’t there anymore. Behind her, the bandits were singing and toasting each other with smuggled flasks of ale, celebrating their freedom from Tortall. The sailors let them- lean, hard-faced men and women who spent their lives on the ships, and didn’t spare a second glance for these land-locked peasants. They lounged in the early morning sunlight, already half-drunk, and yelled jokes to their friends across the crowded deck. After a while the smell of fresh bread joined the saltiness of the air, and there was quiet as the bandits began to eat. Daine picked at a splinter on the rail, hating these people, hating the ones who had sent her away, and hating the sea. 

“Are you eating?” 

Daine shook herself out of her reverie, looking around for the source of the warbling voice. A woman was holding out a piece of bread to her, smiling kindly. She was swathed in shawls and cloths in the way of the roaming bandits, but the layers of cloth could not conceal her hunched body or arthritic hands. The girl found it hard to hate her, she looked so kind. She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. The woman looked back at her evenly, then smiled at her through a sea of wrinkles, her eyes bright in the dawn sunlight.

“Do you know what Tariro means?” 

“No, I...” the girl swallowed, and then tried again. “I thought it was just a name.”

The woman’s smile widened, and she reached out and patted her hand. “It means hope, my dear. Such a small word, but it means so much. We’re all running away from something, or someone- that’s why we’re leaving. And it might be sad to leave, but that’s because you’re thinking of what lies behind you.” 

She tugged at her hand weakly, but deliberately, and Daine realised she wanted her to turn around. She sighed inwardly and looked away from the vanishing shore, now a thin line among the waves. The old woman pointed at the open sea. “Now you must look ahead, and hope for better things. The new land lets us hope. That is why it is called Tariro. So no more tears, hmm? And you should eat, child!” 

She let go of her hand, and pressed the bread into it. Without another word, she walked below decks, surprisingly well balanced on her stick-thin legs. Daine didn’t look back at the shore- she knew that by now it would be gone completely- but stared forward towards woman’s “hope”. It looked like the sea. Grey, forbidding, cold and lonely. 

“And that’s what Tariro really means.” She murmured to herself. “Being alone.” 

She began to pull the bread apart and throw it into the sea, hearing the gulls cry out to each other as they swooped down for it. She didn’t call back- she didn’t feel like speaking to anyone, even one of the People. It was all too sudden. This time yesterday, she’d been happy and completely unaware of anyone’s idea of Tariro- not her own, not an old woman’s, and certainly not king Jonathan’s. Called in from the fields where they were working to an audience at noon, neither she, nor Numair, had expected their lives to change so suddenly. And their response had been one single cry:

“You want us to do _what?”_

King Jonathan shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to avoid the force of both angry glares. It wasn’t working. This whole conversation had sounded better in his head in the many times that he’d rehearsed it. Not that it had sounded particularly good, even then. The summer sun beat through the open window mercilessly and made his head ache, and it was clearly that which was making the two irate mages irritable as well. It couldn’t be his well considered, rational plan. 

“It’s really the only option,” He said quietly. “It’s not like I’m sending you into a war zone, after all.” 

“It’s as near to a war zone as it’s possible to get, Jon!” Numair leaned forward, his eyes dangerous. “You know as well as I do that there’s a civil war brewing over there.”

Jon stood up, his voice louder. “And you’re scared of fighting, is that it?”

“You know that’s unfair.” Daine’s voice was quieter than Numair’s, but just as stubborn. Both men stopped glaring at each other and looked over at her. “You know we’ll always fight if we need to. But think what you’re asking us to do, Jon! We don’t know anything about these people- just that they’re goddess-cursed _bandits_.” Her voice shook slightly on the last word, and her eyes dropped to the floor. “What if they decide to attack Tortall, or kill innocent people, like they’ve done here? What can we do to stop them when we’d be stuck in the middle of nowhere?” 

Jon sighed and sat down, gesturing for them to do likewise- a sign they both studiously ignored. “That’s one of the reasons I need you to go. Will you listen to the plan, at least? We won’t get anywhere by arguing with each other.” He glanced up at Numair, whose expression clearly said he was happy to argue for centuries if needed. The king forced his voice to become calmer. “Please.” 

They glanced at each other and sat down, looking frankly mutinous. The expression irked Jon. It wasn’t like it was even his fault that he had to do this. 

“I am the king.” He stated flatly, “I can order you both to do this, without any explanation, if I choose to. I respect you enough to explain the situation, and let you think about it first, but don’t think for a second that you have a choice.” He rubbed his eyes, looking faintly guilty. “Believe me, if there was an alternative, I would have found it. But there isn’t.” 

“I bet there is.” Daine muttered almost inaudibly. Jon shot her a glare.

“Well, when you find it, you let me know.” He snapped, and then relented. “Look, even when you’re being stubborn as Mithros’ armour, you’re still two of the most loyal people I know. And that’s what’s important about this. I know you can do this, and I know that you can do it well. I have other people I can trust to fight a war, or draw a map, or spy, but no-one but you who could do this well, and know when to fly away when it gets dangerous.” 

“Spying?” Numair asked, surprised. “We haven’t spied since... well, people recognise us now.”

“You can change your appearance.” Jon waved a hand dismissively, “And yes, spying is part of it, but that’s not why I want you to go to Tariro. There have been reports of strange ruins in the island- things we’ve never seen before. They need to be verified, examined. And you would both find it so much easier to blend in to the bandit groups than anyone else- you have no military training to betray, and you’ve both done things like this before.”

“With nobles, not bandits.” 

Again, that wave of the hand. Sunlight glanced off one of Jon’s rings for a split second. “The concept is the same. And I imagine that the leaders of the factions are styling themselves as nobles by now. There are two factions- and like you said, with this civil war brewing, their leaders are getting a lot of support. You can work your way through the ranks quite easily, I imagine.” 

Daine saw through this feigned indifference in a second. “ _Two_ factions.” 

Jon stared at the desk, wishing he had an escape route. “It’s not like you haven’t been separated before.” 

“But this will take months- years, even. You’re sending us into the unknown, and you want us to do it _alone_?” Daine’s voice rose, and cut off abruptly. Without another word, she stood up and stormed out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving the audience chamber almost silent. Jon finally looked up from the sunspots on the floor to the impassive mage. 

“Why don’t you leave, too?” He asked, genuinely curious. Numair shrugged. 

“You said you didn’t have a choice, either. I’d like to hear why. I’m sure that if that’s truly the case then, as you said, we’ll have to leave. I’d like to know as much as possible about what we’re getting in to.” He smiled slightly, “ _Then_ I might storm out.” 

888

The ponies gathered around her, lazy in the summer sun, whisking flies away with their tails as they searched among the grass for the occasional treat. Their riders were away- most of them returned home in the summer to help with the harvest- and in the absence of their usual training the bored ponies were growing fat. Daine had been coming down to the paddock each day and taking them out around the forest trails, knowing that if they became too idle then their bored jibes at one another would turn into serious fights. The immortals had learned to stay away from the towns and cities of Tortall, knowing that they were defended by magical barriers and strong warriors, and the summer days had stretched out in peaceful inaction. Daine had taken to only carrying a knife with her on the trails, not needing her bow when surrounded by the war-trained mounts. Today, however, she was in no mood to be nice. She strung her bow across her back and called the ponies to the gate sharply. 

_What’s wrong, Daine?_ A cream coloured cob asked as he passed, looking ruefully for the absent bag of treats the human usually carried. Daine didn’t answer, opening the gate and counting them out in single file. She ignored the ones still lazing under the trees- usually she would goad them into coming, but she was in no mood to talk to them today. It wasn’t their fault she was upset, after all. 

The walk was uneventful and almost serene. The green and gold leaves of the trees cast multicoloured shadows onto the track, making the route cool and quiet. The occasional chirps of sleepy birds broke through her anger, and soon Daine found herself relaxing enough to enjoy the shade. The ponies noticed when she relaxed, and began to break their nervous silence. She explained to them that she might be sent away. The cob pulled up a nettle and chewed it thoughtfully. 

_Will you get to see new things?_

“I suppose so,” she said out loud. “But they’re not things I really want to see.” 

_Then why go?_

“I guess I have to. I wouldn’t be sent unless it was important, and there are things that only we can do.”

_Is the stork man going with you?_ Another pony butted in, using Cloud’s nickname out of habit. Daine pulled a dandelion up and started picking the seeds off. 

“No. He’ll be there, but I won’t be able to talk to him. He’s going to another faction.”

_What does that mean?_ The second pony flicked her ears, scaring off a bee. Daine dropped the dandelion stalk and stared at it, feeling numb. 

“It means... it means that even if we find each other, we’ll have to pretend to hate each other, or even fight each other, and not talk or be together, all to convince bandits... murderers... that we’re one of them.” 

_I’ve seen you fight each other before._ The cob said. The second pony agreed, looking confused. Daine shook her head, suddenly unable to stop herself crying. 

_It’s different! It’s wrong, and lying, and I hate it!_ She cried silently, making the ponies jump with the strength of her thoughts. Concerned, they stopped and turned around, nuzzling in concern at the girl who was kneeling at the side of the trail, sobbing, for no reason they could understand. The two ponies nearest to her tried to explain, but couldn’t: they simply didn’t understand why she couldn’t just refuse to go. Daine cried out all her anger and helplessness, completely oblivious to the sea of ponies who were guarding her with loving devotion. She didn’t look up until a pair of arms slid around her shoulders and hugged her closely. 

“Ssh sweetling, it’s okay.” Numair stroked her hair gently, then wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. He smiled crookedly, “If you start getting homesick now, then what will you do when you’re on the boat?” 

Daine hiccoughed and leant up against him, telling the ponies to start heading back to the paddock without them. Numair didn’t say anything else, giving her time to calm down and keeping his arms around her as her sobs faded. When she thought she could speak out loud again, she asked a single question. “When?” 

His arms tightened slightly. “Tomorrow. I’m sorry, I couldn’t talk him out of it. There are good reasons for him sending us.” 

“I know.” Daine said simply, staring at nothing. “I just hoped that maybe, this once, he was wrong. Or he might realise how painful it’s going to be to leave, and take some pity on us.” Her voice became bitter. 

“He’s a king before he’s a friend, Daine. Even if he does empathise, he can’t be weak like that. It’s no different from him sending out Alanna to war, knowing that she might die.”

“But she’s never been exiled like this.” The girl’s voice turned from bitter to mulish. “He wouldn’t do it to her.” 

“He would, if it was necessary.” Numair’s patient voice gained an edge. “Are we going to argue for the rest of the day? There’s nothing we can do to change it, and Jon did the only thing he could.”

“Fine.” Daine stood up abruptly, brushed dirt from her knees impatiently, and started following the ponies back to the castle. Numair waited a few minutes before trying to catch up with her, knowing that she was trying not to get angry again. When he caught up with her, she smiled at him apologetically and caught hold of his hand, slowing down enough to talk without feeling breathless. 

“We have to think of a plan to get banished from court.” Numair said, his eyes suddenly mischievous. Daine glanced at him, confused, until he explained, “Well, we can’t just disappear- people will wonder where we’ve gone. So we have to pretend to leave for a real reason.” 

“We could set Jonathan on fire,” was the helpful reply. The mage sighed dramatically. 

“You will note the word “pretend” in my sentence, Miss Sarrasri.” 

“It would only have to be a small fire.” She muttered under her breath, and then realised how absurd she sounded and smiled. “I’m guessing you already have a plan; you get that expression on your face when you’re up to something.” 

Numair looked mock-wounded. “ _Up_ to something? _Me_?” He made an elaborate player’s gesture with his free hand, conveying the absurdity of the very idea, and grinned back when Daine laughed. “As it happens, I do have an idea.”

“Only one? I’m disappointed.” The girl said flippantly, copying his gesture. 

“Ahh, but it is a very good idea. I think you’ll like it.” Numair stopped, something shining underneath the playfulness in his eyes. Daine stopped with him, confused but curious. 

“How would you like to elope?” He asked.


	3. Two Drunk Mages and a King

It felt like the meal should have been different somehow- more subdued, or noisier than normal- but it was a perfectly normal meal. The pages still laughed with each other in the corridors after they had served the food, and the minstrels played the same strains that were always heard. There wasn't a second glance- or even a first- from anyone but those who knew. And the ones who knew were few and far between. Thayet, looking as exquisitely dressed as normal in a simple blue summer shift, passed them a worried look as they sat down, and Jon resolutely refused to meet their eyes as the brief fanfare escorted him to his seat. As late as it was, light still poured through the windows, and the room felt sticky and overheated. The head cook who came to tell the king the menu for the day looked like he was melting from the heat of the stoves, and the pages looked relieved when they could set the hot plates down on the tables and leave. Women fanned themselves rapidly, too hot in their elaborate dresses and headdresses. 

Daine smiled slightly at the sight- these woman had spent hours making themselves look glamorous enough to eat before the eyes of the king, and it had only taken them an hour to look uncomfortable, with sweat staining their satin and smudging their makeup. She was glad that she wasn't part of the noble society- as far as they were concerned, she was a servant of the king or a soldier of some description, and she was happy to keep it that way. She was cool and relaxed in the simple linen dress that was her only nod to the formality of the court; if she had her way, she'd turn up in her breeches and shirt and cause a scandal. The thought brought her back to reality with a bump. She realised she was staring at the melting women, and turned back to Numair. The over-bright chatter of the women drowned out her words.

"Does Jon know we're going to make a scene?"

"It was his idea." Numair emptied his glass of cider and gestured for her to do the same. "Don't worry, it's watered right down. If we're going to behave like rabble, then it's probably better for our reputations if they think we're drunk." He winked at her and refilled his glass from the pitcher on the table. Daine drank, pulling a face at the metallic taste of alcohol that was still plain in the cider- she didn't usually drink alcohol at all. She'd watched some of the nobility get drunk each night, and thought they were ridiculous. The light got darker, and they had their pitcher refilled as they talked about small nothings. Absently, she wondered if anyone was really watching them that closely- other tables hadn't bothered watering down their drinks, and were still drinking them rapidly as they sweated in the heat. At this rate, no-one would be sober enough to remember they were even there in the first place. She could feel her own head getting fuzzy; she didn't know how they were managing to drink more than her. There was a question that seemed important, but she couldn't remember what it was... ah yes.

"Does Jon know what we're going to do, though?" Her voice sounded oddly victorious; she was glad she'd remembered the Important Question, and wanted to share in her triumph. Numair looked askance at her, his own face slightly flushed.

"No- his idea was to start a fight, but I'm not overly fond of getting hit." He raised his eyebrows as Daine tried to stifle a giggle. "You're really not used to alcohol, are you?"

"It's the heat." She lied, and then grinned again and leaned her head against his shoulder. "And I like feeling happy. It's a better plan than getting hurt, being happy. And I don't believe that you watered down that cider as much as you said you did. Are you trying to get me drunk, mister mage?" She half sang, tracing the line of his cheek with her fingertips. Numair caught her hand and kissed it, smiling.

"It doesn't seem like I have to try, sweetling! But I'm glad you're happy."

"But I could be happier," she persisted, "If you tried, I'm sure I could be happier."

He drew a deep breath and traced the line of her own cheek, his eyes playfully intense. "You're still utterly charming, even when you're tipsy, dear one." His long fingers ran along her throat and back to her temples, memorising her. "And you're so very beautiful."

Daine leaned forward and kissed his cheek tenderly. "Careful," she whispered, "I think you might be tipsy, too. Mages aren't supposed to drink, remember? They lose control."

"And there's nothing wrong with that." He whispered back, turning his head so he could kiss her properly. Daine wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, drinking in the smell and feel of him, not caring that eyes were watching them.

An embarrassed cough disturbed them. They sat up abruptly, staring at the liveried page, who was almost crimson in his embarrassment. The colour clashed rather unfortunately with his red hair and freckles.

"I'm sorry, Mister Salmalin, Miss... Miss Sarrasri, to disturb you, but I have a message from the, the king." He stared directly forward, at some point behind the two mages. Daine looked around to see what he could possibly be staring at so intently, but could only see the normal tapestries that always hung in the hall. Perhaps he had a special interest in them?

"Do you like the tapestries?" She asked, her voice unnaturally loud. Numair started laughing, stopped himself, and burst out laughing again at the sight of the page going even deeper red.

"He's not interested in the tapestries, Daine!" He said between gasps, "He just doesn't want to look at us." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "We're making a scene."

"Oh. Oh!" She realised, going slightly pink. She beckoned the page closer, who took half a reluctant step and stopped, staring at her. "Is that what you came to tell us? We knew that. And you shouldn't be embarrassed about liking tapestries, lots of people like them."

The page supremely ignored the last comment, flicking his eyes back upwards towards the wall. "No, miss. The king sent me to tell Mister Salmalin to, uh, to explain himself."

"Certainly!" Said Numair, grinning disarmingly. "Where should I start? I'm a mage, I live in a tower a way away, I'm tall, dark..."

"Handsome," Daine chipped in. Numair nodded seriously.

"Yes, I think that any explanation of myself would have to include that. What else?" He listened intently as the girl whispered something in his ear, and then shook his head, laughing. "Well yes, but I'm hardly going to tell _that_ to a page..."

The page was, by this point, looking completely bewildered. "I think you've misunderstood, sir."

"Oh, I understand." Numair's eyes were far from being sober, but they were completely serious. "You tell the king that what I decide to do is my concern, and he should mind his own business." He shook his head again at the page's shocked gasp, supposedly to clear it. "And don't go paraphrasing that. You tell him that directly. I'll be watching you." He waited exactly three seconds for the page to stare at him in disbelief, and then yelled, "Go!" The teenager fled, visibly pale.

"It should take Jon a few minutes to work out what's going on," Numair said, his eyes very dark. He pulled a curl of her hair back from her forehead, twisting it in his fingers. "Where were we?"

Daine pretended to be shocked. "You mean that wasn't an act? I was going to congratulate you on your stunning acting skills."

"Acting, I'll have you know, is one of my lesser talents." He retorted in kind. He shook his head as Daine handed him his cider glass. "No, Jon's coming over now. I think he's caught on. Caught off-guard, but caught on."

"Vey witty."

"I try." Numair waved cheerfully at the king as he stormed towards them. "He looks really, really angry."

"Perhaps he's a good actor, too?" Daine said hopefully, and then drew in her breath as Jon got closer. The king looked as hot as everyone else, but the angry flush in his face was neither an act, nor a symptom of the heat. "No, he's...really, _really_ angry."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The king yelled as soon as he was close enough to be heard over the drunken rabble around him. At the sound of his voice, most of the courtiers stopped talking and singing and arguing and drinking, and turned around to stare. Those who had already seen and heard the prelude with the page began filling them in, preening visibly at being more in the know than their neighbours. The shocked whispers began to get louder as the two mages stood up and faced the king down, not even bothering to bow. Daine smiled widely at the irate Jonathan, thinking how funny he looked with his crown on crooked like that.

"Hello Jon!" She said cheerfully, holding out a new glass of cider. "Want some?"

Jon spun around and glared at her. "You..." he started, then abruptly switched his glare to the other man. " _You!_ At the very least, you should know better! What are you thinking, getting drunk like this? And getting Daine drunk, too?"

"I got _myself_ drunk." The girl said, with dignity. Jon stared at her, and then looked pointedly at the glass she still held out until she put it down on the table with a shrug. Jon blinked, thinking rapidly, and then stepped closer to them so his voice couldn't be overheard.

"I know that we agreed you should be banished, but why do this? Why not just start a fight, for Mithros 'sake?"

"This is more fun," Numair said bluntly, his voice at the same intent level. Daine nodded.

"It's more in character, too. If we got in a fight we'd probably accidentally kill someone, and then you'd have to put us in prison, and that would be counter...counterpro...duct-tive."

Jon looked at her, his eyes honest and caring. "Daine, do you even know what you're getting yourself in to, here?"

"I'm not a child." She snapped, "I knew months ago, when it was none of your Hag-damned business, and I know now, when it still has nothing to do with you. If it hadn't been for your stupid idea you could still be happily oblivious." She leaned closer, her sudden mood swing apparent in her brightening expression. "How do you like our diversion, your majesty?"

Jon looked up in shock at Numair, who grinned and put his arm around Daine's waist. "That's a believable reaction, your majesty. Shall we continue?"

"I can't believe you." Jon said, his eyes narrowing. Both of the mages shrugged at the same time, dramatically expressive. _Believe it or not, we don't care,_ the gesture said. Jon felt himself getting angry again- not even having to pretend to be angry, or knowing that he had to, but just furious. He knew they were deliberately trying to make him mad, and by Shakith it was working! But the fact that he hadn't known, that they'd abused his trust for so long, made him more irate than the disrespectful way they were treating their king. No wonder they'd been so upset when he'd given them their new task! And yet even then they hadn't told him, had let him blunder around in the dark. The eyes of the court fell upon him, sharing in his ignorance, and he felt humiliated beyond belief. Guilt and confusion and wine and ire flooded his mind. It wasn't hard to make his voice shake with rage.

_"Get out." He snapped, his voice clear as a bell in the suddenly silent room. "Get out of my court. Until you've sorted yourselves out, I don't want to see either of you here again." He lowered his voice, suddenly poisonous at what he perceived as their revenge for his understandable ignorance. "And don't think you'll be coming back without a public apology, either."_

_They both bowed, smiling in an infuriating manner. "As you wish, your majesty." They chorused, linked arms, and left the room with heads held high. Jonathan glared around at the staring courtiers, suddenly aware that the room was too hot, too quiet, and stank of stale drink._

_"Court dismissed!" He yelled, and strode out._

_Thayet watched him leave, biting her lip, then stood up and left through the other door, following the mages. She found them leaning against the cool stone wall, talking seriously to each other, their hands entwined. The queen hung back, embarrassed to be interrupting, but Daine look up at her and smiled, inviting her forward._

_"I just wanted to say thank you, and...congratulations. You two belong together." Thayet said quietly. "I'm sure Jon will see it that way eventually, he just has to calm down."_

_Daine stretched, sobering up in the cooler air of the corridors. "I'm sure he'll have plenty of time to do that." She said flatly. "But thank you, your majesty."_

_Thayet smiled, both congratulating and apologetic, and bid them goodnight. Even knowing it might be years before she saw either of them again, she didn't look back as she walked away._

_888_

_"I want you to have my necklace." Said Daine, impulsively reaching up to untie it. The chain caught in her hopelessly tangled hair, and she scowled at it until she could yank it free. Numair caught the chain as it fell and looped it back around her neck, his hands cool in the humid air._

_"No." He said simply, watching the silver claw catch the candlelight and throw it back against her throat. "It's a part of you. You need it."_

_"People recognise it." She objected, "Remember when they found Ozorne's body, and they asked what could make cuts like that? Everyone knows he was killed with that claw, and everyone knows it belongs to me. If we're disguising ourselves I can't keep it. Besides," she gently pulled the chain away from him and wrapped it around the pendant, pressing both into his hands, "If you know it means that much to me, then you should have it to remind you."_

_He stared at her, his eyes inscrutable, "It won't be forever, you know."_

_She made a meaningless gesture. "Even so, I want you to have it. It might come in handy." A smirk spread slowly across her face, "especially if your close fighting skills are still as bad as the way you ride a horse."_

_"I've had no complaints," the man said flippantly, carefully fastening the chain around his own neck. Daine rolled her eyes at him._

_"Well of course not, you can't hear them!" She placed a hand on her chest theatrically. "I can. And trust me, if even a pony can tell you're holding the reigns badly, then you're doing it wrong." She leaned forward across the bed and picked the claw up from the end of the chain. "It looks odd from this side." Slowly, she let it fall back against his chest, her fingers following it, tracing the shape of his chest. "I hope you're not going to disguise yourself as someone ugly. That would be tragic."_

_He caught her hand and returned it to her. "We don't have time," he said, "It's nearly dawn."_

_Daine looked surprised, glancing out of the window at the lightening sky. Now she listened, she could hear the occasional peep as the birds outside warmed up to sing the morning chorus. She bit her lip, suddenly scared, the quiet happiness of the night shattered. Without saying another word, she stood up from the bed and started getting dressed in the rough peasant's clothes they'd each been given. Her pack by the bed was full of similar clothes, all tattered and threadbare, and the quiver and bow she'd chosen were gnarled and ancient- but still good, she'd made sure of that. She growled a curse at the clumsy women's clothes as she pulled them on- the layers of leggings and skirts had annoyed her when she'd lived in Galla, and compared to the men's dress she was used to, they seemed ridiculously bulky and difficult to put on. Numair was dressed long before she was, and helped her to tie up the leather bodice._

_"Will it be suspicious, that you can't do that yourself?" He asked quietly. Daine shook her head._

_"Lots of people have trouble with them, that's why I don't like wearing the bloody things." She muttered, "If anyone asks, I'll just tell them my husband always tied it for me, every morning." She smiled at his expression and kissed him, feeling weak at the breathlessness and shooting heat as he kissed her back passionately. It took them a while to hear the soft knocking on the door that meant it was time to go. Daine heard the same page go to her room and knock on the door there, and smiled- obviously the rumours weren't spreading as quickly as they normally did._

_"We'll be a scandal in three days." Numair declared. "Two, if Jon throws a hissy fit in the morning audience- which he might well do."_

_"I wish I could see that," Daine replied, pulling on her leggings. "You'll have to tell me about it."_

_Numair nodded absently, digging through one of the many untidy chests that made up the furniture in his room. He knew for a fact that he'd left that spell in here... ah. The paper was crumpled, but perfectly legible. Daine was leaving with the ship of plains bandits, which was in the dock waiting to leave this morning, loaded up with their ponies and possessions. The idea was that she could talk to the ponies as much as the bandits themselves, and find out more that way. She would join the few stragglers on the ship who were simply outcasts from their villages, or those wanting a new life- by sailing with them, she would be officially stating her allegiance to their clan._

_The ship he was taking, by comparison, didn't leave for a few days. It was of the mountain bandits, those who prided themselves in tracking mountains and forests, but had no skill for hiding in the open plains. He admired Jon's diplomacy in this at least- if he had told Daine to go with the bandits whose clan had wiped out her village in Galla, she would have refused outright._

_He read the spell, and nodded. It was as he'd remembered it. "I'm going to make it slightly more complicated." He said out loud. "So that we can recognise each other if we see each other. It's basically an illusion that will affect anyone who isn't specified by the parameters."_

_Daine nodded, pulling on her boots and grimacing at the whole hot outfit. "Whatever that meant, I'm fine with it."_

_He smiled and placed a hand on her forehead. "It means that I'll look like me, and you'll look like you... but only to each other. It should last indefinitely, until someone takes the spell off. And I'll hide it as best I can, so no-one can see we're spelled." He took his hand away. "How's that?"_

_She blinked. "What, you did it already?" She stood up and found the small mirror from under the typical pile of papers and experimental junk that littered Numair's room. It was hard to see in the soft pre-dawn light, but she could make out her own eyes looking back at her. She was relieved- she didn't know who she'd be without her eyes. They were framed by eyebrows that looked too dark, and sharper cheekbones in darker flesh than they were used to. Soft, straight black hair fell down her back as she tilted the mirror. She thought she looked like one of the mountain people that lived in Carthak in horse-drawn caravans. When she drew her hair in front of her eyes to look closely, it shimmered between a straight lock and a curl._

_"I guarantee that doing that will give you a headache." Numair said absently, his hand pressed to his own forehead. "It should settle down in a few days, when you get used to thinking of yourself as looking like a different person. What's her name?"_

_"Arra." Daine said without hesitation. "What do you look like? Tell me."_

_"I don't have to, look." He took the mirror from her and held it in front of his own face. Although she could see his normal appearance staring into the polished surface, the face that stared back couldn't have been more different. His usually sharp features had been replaced by the soft golden hardiness of the mountain people. His black eyes looked ridiculously dark amidst the coppery hair and pale skin._

_"That's just disconcerting." She muttered._

_"I've always wondered what it was like to be a redhead." He replied lightly. He gave her one last rapid kiss, and picked up her pack from the floor, handing it to her. It was only when he picked up his own that she thought about this._

_"Wait, why are you coming, too? Your ship doesn't leave for days." She blew out the candles that had degenerated into a molten mess overnight. Numair grinned, his teeth white in the darkness._

_"I'm not staying here for Jon to yell at me. I'll walk with you to the dock, and then go to the ship early and make some new friends."_

_888_


	4. Two Choices

The woman’s name, Daine found out, was Esther. If she had stopped at that information Daine would probably have liked her a whole lot more, but on board the ship there was nothing the plains women liked more than telling stories. They cooed over old folk tales and love stories, gasped and screeched at horror tales... but the stories they liked best were the true stories of the people around them. 

Daine was initially very suspicious of this brash curiosity, something she saw as pure nosiness. She stood outside the circle, listening intently but not a part of the group, until the end of the first week. Esther had cheerfully greeted her every day as she staggered past to take her place in the circle on deck, enjoying the fresh air from the acrid stuffiness of the large room below decks where they all slept. On the seventh day of this, the woman gripped the girl’s arm in a surprisingly strong, vicelike claw, and pulled her towards the circle. 

“You won’t eat, you won’t smile, but you will speak to us, dear!” She cackled in her strange sing-song voice. “It’s no good being shy, we all know each other here, see.” Daine tensed up, waiting for them to demand she tell her story- but on that first day, they didn’t. They smiled at her, welcoming someone they saw as shy rather than unsociable, and kept chatting around the circle.

The stories ranged from fatuous to tragic, and each woman laughed and cried as the situation demanded. When the stories became more graphic the younger women covered their faces with their shawls in embarrassment, making the older wives caw even more with helpless laughter. The men of the ship watched the circle becoming closer with tolerant expressions on their faces, tending to the ponies below decks and hanging fishing lines off the sides. It wasn’t until the second week that any of the women spoke to Daine directly, and by that point Daine had her story straight: she decided to tell the truth as much as possible, and not get caught out. 

The woman’s name was Kama. She had two young children who had the run of the ship, and Daine knew more about the woman’s husband than she ever would have wanted to. Her face was concerned when she looked at the new girl, hiding behind her dark hair. “You’ve lost weight, you know. You should really eat.”

The women stopped chattering and waited expectantly for the treat of a new voice. When Daine didn’t answer right away, they began offering their predictably absurd suggestions. 

“Maybe she only eats grass, like the little fairies.”

“Are you homesick, dear?” 

“Perhaps she is one of the merpeople, and she only eats seaweed.”

Daine smiled at this last one. “That’s daft. If I was a mermaid, I’d just swim to Tariro.” 

The women applauded, welcoming her voice to their group. Kama slapped her lightly on the back. “You have a voice! We thought you might be a mute!” 

Daine’s lips twitched at this suggestion, but her face was serious when she answered their question. “I’ve tried to eat, but I’ve been getting really sea sick, and I can’t keep food down.” 

The air was once again awash with suggestions- apparently, this had been the right thing to say. Every woman on the ship had at least two different remedies that they would swear by for treating such a simple ailment, and began shouting them at once. Esther rapped on the deck with her knuckles to quiet them, and then suggested with a wry smile that they speak one at a time, and not deafen poor Arra, who must already be feeling tired without having to listen to all this jabbering. The women grumbled themselves into silence and waited their turn to speak, loudly denouncing any cure that wasn’t their own. 

Daine listened intently, dismissing some of the sillier solutions (such as carrying a mermaid’s purse husk in the pocket at all times) and trying to memorise some of the more reasonable suggestions. When they had all had their say she thanked them politely, and they demanded that she tell them a story in return for their valuable advice. Of course, the only story that would do was why she was on the ship. 

“I was working on a farm with my husband.” She said shortly, “We were in charge of looking after the ponies that got sold on to the riders- some of them at least, the best ones. We lost a fair few in the war, when those monsters would just swoop by and carry them off- savage creatures, they are.” 

Each woman on the ship nodded in unison, lamenting their own losses from the war. This woman had lost a flock of sheep as they stampeded away from a swooping hurrock, this woman had her house trampled by spidren. Worse were the stories from the more remote areas- where children and even adults had been stolen away, never to return. They asked her, how did she keep herself safe?

“We were lucky, I guess. We sold to the Riders, and there were always a few around inspecting the foals, looking for ones to train up themselves. They were good at fighting off the immortals- they’d have to be. Anyway, we were safe, but we lost so many of the herd that the farm couldn’t make a profit. So our landlord evicted us, and took the rest of the ponies as back pay for the land. My husband decided to work the land for a living- go up north and see if anyone needed a pair of hands- but he said that was no life for a woman.”

The women cooed together at this simple chivalrous action, even those whose hands were worked to callous by the hoes they’d used all their life. They filled in the rest of the story for themselves- it was clear to them that this woman had taken her best option and joined their clan, and they congratulated her for the fine choice. If she was good with ponies, they declared, then she had come to the right place! Why hadn’t she said at the start of the journey, when the men were all arguing over work rotas? And no wonder she was heartsick with such a husband left behind, one who wouldn’t let her become a hired hand- how romantic! And how foolish of him to leave such a young wife alone! (This was said with a certain amount of implication and a few sidelong looks, which Daine decided to ignore.) But, they demanded, how had she won herself such a man?

“When I met him,” she hesitated, and then continued, avoiding the women’s bright expressions. “When I first met him, he was very sick. He couldn’t eat, or think, or even recognise his friends. He’d wandered off, dizzy, and gotten himself lost in a marsh.”

The women looked at each other knowingly, glancing towards their own spouses. The word was clear, a kind of long suffering sigh: _men._

“Well, I found him, and I nursed him back to health until his friends found a healer and got him better.” 

“You probably saved his life, then.” Esther said with a certain amount of satisfaction. “He feels like he owes you.” 

“He owes me _nothing,_ and I wouldn’t marry a man who only thinks of me as some kind of debt to be repaid!” Daine said, suddenly angry. Esther patted her hand, glancing around at the other women knowingly. 

“Of course not, of course not my dear.” 

“No, really. He saved my life too, from a Spidren. He owes me nothing.” Daine’s voice was clipped, still angry, but the women leaned forward in excitement. A spidren? How enthralling! How romantic that you both saved each other like that! Tell us about it!

Daine sighed, and forced herself to calm down. There was no point getting angry when she was lying to them anyway, and no point getting defensive over something that didn’t exist for Arra, but was left behind safe in Tortall until she returned. Thinking quickly, she invented a story about a clever trap and a knife, and a lot of luck. She didn’t think for a second of claiming one farming man had fought off a fully grown spidren alone- such things were just not done. 

The rest of the voyage continued in kind. Daine found that even when her body got used to the swaying of the ship, and she could walk normally on its moving decks, her stomach still refused to accept the simple traveller’s food and she spent most of her time feeling miserably ill. Esther and Kama tried their best to draw her into the circle of women, and slowly she became accepted as one of them- albeit one who didn’t speak much, and who didn’t laugh at their jokes. She was politely barred from going into the lower deck and speaking to the ponies, until one day when she saw Esther talking to the guard on the door, gesturing wildly and looking rather fierce. After that, the guards let her by, and nodded at her as she passed. When Daine went to thank the old lady, she waved a hand dismissively. 

“They mean well, but it takes them an awful long time to catch on. I just told them you were one of us now, and better for the ponies than all their standing around arguing about it.” 

Daine smiled her thanks, planning on how she was going to talk to the ponies, and then the thought suddenly occurred to her: She had been so worry about integrating herself among the men of the clan, not wanting to speak to them but dreading that she’d have to, and without even asking for anything in return this woman had done it for her. She started watching Esther more carefully, and realised that she actually had quite a lot of authority over the ship. She didn’t give commands, or make herself obvious, but faded so well into the background that most people couldn’t even tell she was gradually shaping their actions. When she came out on deck each morning with her hobbling walk, the men automatically stood up straighter and went about their tasks with more energy. When Daine asked her why, the woman cackled loudly. 

“I knew most of ‘em when they were still wearing nappies. And I’ve never let them forget it.” 

After nearly a month in the ship with nothing to do, the ponies were getting restless. Daine went down to them every day, checking them for signs of kicking or malnutrition. To her relief the men of the plains were incredibly good at caring for their mounts- the ponies were all happy, and very loyal to their masters. 

She faded her gift right down to almost nothing for the first few days, letting the ponies get used to her without speaking to them. She knew the men were watching her closely, and it would be suspicious if these battle-hardened creatures warmed to her straight away, without a few days of initial suspicion. She made friends with them by gesture and action- knowing which ponies were feeling bored and miserable, and playing with them, and leaving the high-strung leaders alone until they were used to her shape in the herd. 

When they grudgingly accepted this new human to their number, she began to talk to them properly. They had very little to say- they spoke mainly through action, used to keeping the silence that their masters followed. When Daine asked them why- surely no-one could hear them?- they blinked at her in confusion. Their masters did it, therefore they did it. It was that simple. 

The leading pony, a dark brown female with a black mane and tail, described the shape of the clan to her. The ponies followed the same heirachy as the people that rode them. Her master was the serious-eyed man who always seemed to be watching, even when people were carrying out the most mundane chores. If he saw anything being done in a way he disapproved of, he would swoop down and efficiently finish it himself. 

_That seems a bit obsessive,_ Daine commented. The pony shook her head, amused at this human’s ignorance. 

_If one little thing goes wrong, it can be the difference between having the money to eat, and starving to death in a prison._ She said, echoing the words that she’d often heard him say. 

Daine watched the man, who didn’t seem to be watching her with particular suspicion, but was definitely watching her. She’d given him no reason to disapprove of her actions, and as such he’d never really spoken to her. That night when she was grooming some of the pack ponies, she waited until he was nearby, and then deliberately used the currycomb on the horse’s legs, not pressing hard enough for the pony to feel any discomfort from the rough bristles, but being obvious enough about it that the leader would notice. It only took him a few seconds to cross the room and snatch the brush from her hand. 

“What are you doing?” He snapped, “I don’t believe you used to work with ponies if you’re making stupid mistakes like that. If you scratch their legs and they get an infection, how do you think they’re going to be able to walk when we get to Tariro?”  
Daine looked numbly at the brush, biting her lip. “I’m sorry, sir. I guess I must be tired.” 

“That’s no excuse.” He handed her the brush back. “I’ve been watching you, and you don’t normally make mistakes. If you’re that tired you shouldn’t be working with the ponies at all.” He watched her finish currying the horse, and then nodded approvingly. “Better. And less of the ‘sir’ if you don’t mind. I’m Elan. We’d all get along better on this floating twig if we stopped pretending we were still part of a gang.” 

_But you’re the leader, despite all that._ Daine thought, silently picking the last knots out of the pony’s coat. 

When she had finished she dropped the brush back into the bucket and picked it up to take back to the storage room, holding out her other hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you, Elan. I’m Arra.” 

_I know,_ said his eyes, but he shook her offered hand anyway. “You’re the one who Esther’s adopted. We don’t give charity, you know. It’s a good thing that you’re working, but you need to make sure you don’t make mistakes.” His voice became deliberately casual. “I noticed you brought a bow on board with you. Are you any good with it?”

“I wouldn’t carry it if I wasn’t.” She wondered why he was asking, since many of the bandits had brought weapons on board with them. It suddenly occurred to her that he might have been waiting for an excuse to talk to her as much as she had been, and she blurted out, “Why?” 

He looked at her evenly, directly. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours about Tariro. They say that there’s a city in the mountains made out of ice, with tunnels and corridors that spread for miles. The ones who’ve made it back say that it could be the key to keeping the island- that there must be some great magic there that can sway the battle to our side. But it’s hard to search- there are condors in the mountains that can pick a man up whole and leave nothing but his bones. There are groups of bandits from the other clans, all wanting the same treasure.” 

“So?” Daine asked flatly, not letting on that she’d heard these stories before. The man rolled his eyes at her slowness and spoke plainly. 

“If you’re an archer, you can fight off the condors. As a woman, the other clans are less likely to attack you- honour among thieves.” He added wryly. “And you’re unusually good with the ponies- I’ve been watching you keep them happy in their boredom. They’d be less likely to bolt if they’re happy.” 

She looked at her feet, embarrassed. “I think you give me too much credit, sir.” 

Elan narrowed his eyes, and then shrugged and turned away. “Stay in the coast camp if you want, with the women. It’s obvious how much you relish their company.” He turned back and lifted her chin, looking straight into her eyes. “But I won’t play games with you. Decide which you want to do, and tell me... and that will be the end of the matter. Either choice will mean you’ll have to stop lying to us, eventually.”

She threw off his hand and glared at him. “I’m not lying about anything!” 

He spread his hands, turning away again. “As you say, Arra. Choose well.”


	5. Too Dusty

Daine was out of breath by the time she reached the top of the hill, her legs completely unused to walking anything but the decks of the ship for the last month. She resisted the urge to flop down on the heather and rest, knowing that it wouldn't help her to adapt to life on dry land again. Instead, she climbed the strange pile of standing rocks that seemed to be common on this island, and looked down at the coastal camp. Once she was settled, she wrapped her arms around herself against the icy wind that blew unhindered from the mountains.

The camp seemed so small from up here, so utterly unlike the smothering, noisy reality. The area had been chosen for its ease of access- the hills on this side of the island were more gentle than the sheer cliffs the mountain bandits had chosen to camp among- but it was by no means ideal. Grey and bronze coloured dust blew down from the hills, ripped from the porous rock from the bitterly cold wind that defied the summer sun. Even in the few hours that the new tents had been erected, a thick layer of dust had covered them. The settlers who had been there for longer welcomed the newcomers with brooms and spades. Their own wooden shacks were more protected in the lee of the hill, but the daily sweeping away of dust had become a habit. If it was allowed to get too heavy, even the wooden structures would collapse. Everyone in the camp, even the children and animals, had cloths tied around their noses and mouths to stop them inhaling the dust. From the hilltop, this danger seemed silly- the dust created a shimmering veil over the camp, softening and hiding its outlines and making it seem peaceful. The older settlers had formed a bucket chain from the river to the sheltered soil, watering the seedling plants that had begun to grow there. It was obvious that making the land fertile was going to be a long and difficult process.

Daine had helped Elan and the other men to unload the horses onto the beach- followed by the more difficult task of convincing the restless ponies that it was a bad idea for them to run and stretch their legs on the loose sliding earth. With their legs unsteady, unused to dry land after the motion of the sea, one wild gallop could result in a broken leg. And a broken leg meant death; in this barren land, the bandits could not afford to keep any creature that could not work. Daine had explained this carefully to the ponies who were calm enough to listen, and left it at that. The other ponies could strain against their ropes- it would look suspicious if they all calmed down at the same time, and she trusted the more serene ponies to spread the word before anyone got hurt.

The hill had called to her even then- bare of even sapling trees, purple with heather and moss, it spoke of freedom and air after the close confines of the ship. She glanced at it longingly from time to time, while she was checking the store of halters they'd brought with them for damage. Gradually she became aware that Elan was watching her, and wondering how much he suspected. Every time she looked up, his impassive eyes flickered in her direction- tiny gestures that would have been missed by the people he was talking to, but that were far too conspicuous for her peace of mind. There was something uncanny about the intuitive way he seemed to know what people were thinking before they did, a skill that made him a born leader and a definite threat. His comment about her keeping secrets had been a thinly veiled warning, and despite his assumed indifference she knew that he was suspicious of her. His offer to take her on the exploration trip seemed to be more to keep an eye on her than anything else. She hoped his suspicions stayed as just that- shadows of guesswork and caution. Her head bent lower over the halter that she was repairing with practiced skill, very aware of his casual eyes on her. She must do nothing to raise more questions. Elan was called over by one of the old settlers after an hour or so, and disappeared into one of the tents.

It was if a weight had been lifted from her mind. As soon as she felt she could slip away without rousing too much suspicion, she headed towards the rough trail the settlers had worn in the dust. It followed the meandering course of the rather pathetic river, whose dust-strewn currents stained the stones red, and then forded it and continued to climb the other side of the hill. It took her nearly an hour to reach the top of the hill, but it was worth it. After so long breathing the salty sea air, the cold breeze felt like a drink of cool water. For the first time since leaving on the ship, she could feel her nausea starting to fade.

From here she could see trees. They huddled in the valleys between the dust hills, their branches laden with the dust but strong and growing. The hills retreated rapidly into the steeper slopes of the snow capped mountains, whose glaciers fed the rivers and froze the wind. Looking up at the mountains, Daine wondered that the bandits had explored them at all. Even to her eyes they looked deadly.

"A wall between us and the other clan, and the ruins are right in the middle." Elan's voice made her jump, and she looked down from the rocks accusingly. He held out her bow and quiver, his face expressionless. "I told you there were condors in the mountains. If you died now, that would be a month's worth of water and bread wasted on a corpse."

She bit back a retort that she was perfectly capable of defending herself without a bow, thank you very much! For a few moments she had forgotten she was Arra, and had been staring at the mountains with something close to passion. Whatever she was here to find out, it was in those reaches. Being forced to remember that she was a mere bandit's investment brought her down to earth with a bump. She slid down from the rocks in a cloud of dust and took the offered bow, unable to hide her disdain.

"Thank you." She said sarcastically, "For following me."

He ignored her and stared at the mountains, as if her curiosity about them had made them slightly distasteful. "I suppose you'll be wanting to come with us, then."

She gaped at him. "You asked me to!"

He stared at her, his brown eyes cold as the wind. "Did I? I don't recall. I know you're wanting to go into the mountains, and that's fine, but you'll never find your way through without the rest of us. You might find the city, but you'll lose the water, or freeze. I'm thinking that whatever your reason for going, you want to be alive when you get there. What's your real name?" The subject change was abrupt, surprising her, and despite herself she paled slightly.

"This is my real name." She stammered, hoping he'd replace her shock for anger. Elan shook his head.

"Lying. I told you that you'd have to stop that."

"I thought you didn't recall saying that." She retorted, starting to walk rapidly away from him. He caught up at an easy stroll, already completely comfortable on the unmoving land. His voice was languid, slow.

"You know I'm a bandit. It's at the top of your mind when you speak to me, clear as a bell. And yes, I am a thief and, I dare say, an all round wicked man. I'm used to being cunning to make the best of things. On the ship, this idea was more beneficial to me. On land, it's more beneficial to you. I don't see what the problem is here. We can both lie and trick each other about why and what we're doing. As long as you're working in my interests I don't care why you're doing it."

"Pardon me for not believing you," She muttered, "Just because you have the sight doesn't mean you're trustworthy. It just means you're better at manipulating people."

"True." He stopped and waited for her to stop with him, wiping a trail of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and leaving a red smear. "But you've heard of honour among thieves, I'm sure. At this time, I'm the only one who knows you're lying... although mother has some idea. So here's the idea: You work for me loyally and without question, and no-one else finds out that you're Tortall's pet wild mage." He leaned closer, his eyes still strangely expressionless- but now that she was expecting it, Daine could feel the glasslike tendrils of his consciousness in her mind. Without thinking, she pushed him away from her as hard as she could, with her hands and her mind and any power she could summon. He regained his footing easily and remained the extra distance away. For the first time, he smiled.

"Tell me your real name, wild mage."

Daine crossed her arms across her chest mutinously, rapidly barricading her mind against another attack. "Don't you already know?"

He shook his head. "It's not written on your skin like the bronze of your gift, or glaring from your eyes like your hatred for my people. The women tell stories about you around the circle, but they don't know your name. When rumours get to us in the plains, they usually lose the small details."

She smiled back, showing teeth. "If you know the rumours about me, then why are you here, alone?"

Again, the shake of his head, this time with a long-suffering sigh. "No, that's not right either. If you killed me, it would blow your cover. And you'd never be allowed to go into the mountains if I wasn't around to speak for you- the other men see you as a shy, sorry little waif."

"But you wouldn't want to leave me here, with your family," she persisted, trying to regain her footing in this odd conversation. Elan's eyes flickered momentarily, a small victory, but his voice was still calm.

"You don't want to be left."

"Right. So regardless of what you think you know about me, or not, it's better for everyone if we work together. For now. In return, you stop asking questions, and I'll make sure that whatever I do is my own affair, and doesn't interfere with your plans. Fair?"

His eyebrows rose in a gesture of respect, and he held out his hand. Daine hesitated, and then shook it. She knew that among the bandits, this was as solemn a ritual as swearing a blood oath. If she broke her word, or he told anyone her secret, it would be like declaring war. But beneath this, she still felt very vulnerable- once they were away from the people Elan cared about, she would lose her bargaining chip. And he was too clever not to capitalise on that.

"I really don't care why you're here, wild mage. But you'll be useful to have around." He turned around and began walking down the path, his hands in his pockets. As he neared the first turning he thought of something and turned back. "Don't go thinking the others will share my views. You've never been kind to bandits, have you? Breaking this bargain will be much worse for you than for me."


	6. Two Scholars

The city was so well hidden that they were almost in the middle of it before they saw it. The cliff walls of the mountains swept around the valleys in arches and tunnels, making a labyrinth of rock that never seemed to end. Sometimes these caves were cavernous, making each sound echo with frightening volume- but just as often they were close, claustrophobic spaces, needing to be crawled through on hands and knees. Daine was grateful that someone else knew the way- the only animals that lived in the tunnels were strangely silent, and only knew the small area they lived in. She would have gotten lost, and as Elan had warned her, sources of water were few and far between. The trees grew around and above the tunnels, their roots buried deep in the red soil, and cast dark shadows when the sun shone. The small procession tripped and cursed for the first few days of walking, and slowly learned how to feel their way among the roots. Elan refused to let them light torches to light their way, reminding them that the farther they got from the coast, the closer they got to the mountain clans. Daine cynically wondered if he was using his sight to let him see the bronze and green glows of the roots. He certainly didn't trip over as much as the rest of them. When they weren't crawling through the bowels of the earth, they were climbing over the increasingly steep mountains. Sometimes there was a way around them, or a passage through, but even these were wearing and sheer, and when they broke free of the trees the condors would descend. The massive birds, used to picking the lean hares from the slopes, were quick to attack anything larger.

There were fewer people on this trip than she'd expected. The bandits were very clear that it was to be an exploration, and they were used to functioning in small independent groups. The ten people who had volunteered to come were hard-faced veterans of the island- the only new recruits were herself and Elan. They'd called for volunteers in the camp, and she and Elan had been the only ones to step forward. They'd raised their eyebrows at the girl, taking in her slight figure and fragile appearance with one glance, and the confident way she carried her bow with the next. Perhaps they thought she was a see-er too. According to the more vocal members of the group, it was unusual for strong mages to come to the island, and even more rare for them to risk their lives on these treks. Between the condors and the other bandits, it was unusual for more than a third of any group to make it back alive. And on the steep mountains, it was only luck that allowed them to pass. Most mages waited in the base camps for passes to be cleared before they ventured out.

Elan was different, and the bandits treated him with respect, soon allowing him to become their unofficial leader. They spoke to him in hushed voices, and to her they rarely spoke at all. Others in the group hadn't said a word since they'd set out- they had no need to speak when all they were doing was walking. Daine had heard one of them shout a warning when one of the condors swooped down unexpectedly, and the gravelly sound of his voice had shocked her more than the size of the creature. It had taken her a few precious extra seconds to recover and aim and fire at the enormous bird, its razor sharp claws missing her by inches as she ducked. It banked around, screeching, and she shot it in the throat. It crumpled to earth with a jarring thud, silver claws flashing in the sun.

That was the other thing that scared her. No-one had mentioned that the condors were immortals, and yet it was clear that they were. There wasn't an obvious reason why they had flocked to this island, nor why they stayed away from the other lands. But what scared Daine most of all was the fact that none of the condors seemed to have a voice. She'd spoken to them silently, but none showed any sign that they'd heard her. Even when she screamed silently into their minds they didn't react.

After a fortnight of walking inland, the guide held up her hand and stopped the group in front of a large cave. "This is where we'll camp." She said quietly. "There's a lake inside the cave where we can fish, and it's close to the city."

Elan pushed forward to the front of the group, his voice impatient and loud. "Why have we stopped, then?"

The woman glared at him, her expression the fierce intensity that only the black-eyed women of the plains could master. Elan actually took a step back, making an apologetic gesture. When she was sure he would be silent, the woman spoke again. Her voice, in contrast to the sharpness of her eyes, was musically soft.

"This is the only place of shelter before the city, and no-one will stay there. It's the only place that the mountain people can stay, and the only place that we can stay. They know we're here, but as long as we're quiet they won't be able to find us."

"Just how big is this cave?" Daine asked, her own voice hushed. The guide didn't answer, but turned and strode into the entrance. Like the other people in the group, she thought using too many words was a waste of silence. And why use words, when you could see for yourself? The bandits trailed into the cavern.

The tunnel descended rapidly, below the base of the mountains, and Daine realised it must be a real underground cavern, not one of the ones made from the roots of trees. The air grew colder as they walked, but it didn't have the metallic stale taste that was found in most caves. Nor was there water or slime on the rock walls. Daine touched the walls carefully with her fingertips and found them to be very cold, but dry. She wondered idly if they were made of ice, like Elan had said when he'd described the city. After a few hundred meters the guide passed back a rope with knots tied in it, so each person could hold on to the next loop and follow her. They walked in silence.

After an interminable time of darkness, a slight blue light began to filter through the tunnel. It was so faint at first that they didn't see it, but pressed their hands to their eyes against the phantom silhouettes that seemed to move in the pitch darkness. Daine did the same, and then realised it was just the people walking in front of her, vague black outlines in an endless black world. Gradually, so slowly, the silhouettes became human, and one by one they began to let go of the rope. And in one rush of light, the tunnel opened up into the cavern. As one, they gasped.

It was as if the whole mountain had been hollowed out. Elegant arches of rock spanned the immense space, crossed the lake in the center, and descended to the distant side in a haze of distance. The walls were hidden in shadow, with darker patches where they opened into more tunnels. At first it seemed like the light was coming from the lake in the center- a glass-like stretch of smooth water that glowed with an eerie blue shade, sending moving reflections onto the pillars that crossed it. A small island of rock sat in the middle of it, too far away to swim out to or see clearly. The light poured in from high above, from small holes in the rock walls.

"That's the city." The guide said quietly, seeing where they were all staring. "We're under it; those are windows. From the outside this place looks like any other building."

Daine stared with the rest of them, fascinated. It wasn't surprising that two warring groups could both live here and never find each other, the place was enormous. But for all its beauty and strange eerie grace, the place felt dangerous. She shivered, wondering if it was the coldness in the air that gave her the sensation, but none of the other people seemed to feel it. Something about the place just felt wrong. They seemed incredibly alone, and the world seemed even more silent than usual. The shock of realisation hit her as they took a few steps into the cave, and she nearly tripped. The man walking ahead of her glared as she caught herself on his sleeve, but she hardly saw it.

She couldn't hear the People here.

The normal background chatter and calling that she took for granted was completely gone, so absent it was like going deaf. Listening deliberately, she could hear the dim squeaks of bats and rats with her physical ears, but in her mind there was complete silence.

888

"Fascinating," The mage said under his breath, peering closely at the walls of the building. The shorter man next to him nodded, just as impressed with what seemed like a perfectly normal piece of rock. Numair had made a friend.

"It appears to be made of a porous rock," the friend concurred. "Water froze around it, and that's what makes it look like ice. Where the rock eroded away, the ice remained."

"Very clever." Numair stood up straight, dusting his hands off and looking ruefully at the wall. "It's a shame we can't take a sample. As soon as it melts it's useless."

The friend threw up his arms dramatically, bemoaning the shortcomings of science. He wasn't actually that short, but of stocky build, making Numair's tall, lean form look reed-like next to him. He'd been one of the few people who the mountain folk had approached directly, asking for his expertise in exploring the ruins. He'd explained this strange conscription to Numair on the month-long voyage, when the mage had asked him why he'd brought more books to the island than clothes. Apparently, he'd been studying the incredibly interesting rock formations that surrounded Pirate's Swoop during the day and studying the bottom of a pitcher of beer during the evening. To his surprise, there weren't many people in the inn who were interested in learning about strata, but that didn't stop his commitment to education. Anyone lucky enough to sit near him was honoured with his newest findings before they were even published! But, as he said, he was a generous man.

One night, when for some reason there were far less people in the inn then there had been at the start of his enterprise, he'd decided to take his beer outside and share it with the stars. Since the stars didn't drink (to the best of his knowledge) he toasted their charitable nature in kindly letting him drink all the pitcher, and got a lot drunker than he normally did. He vaguely remembered explaining the fossilization process to a tree when a man had walked up to him, led him kindly to a pond, and kicked him in. This had the unfortunate effect of making him significantly more miserable and less drunk, so he asked the man to share another pitcher with him. Instead, the man had explained that he was a traveller, going to a new island, which was in desperate need of investigation. He'd heard tell of an eccentric but brilliant scholar in the area- could this possibly be the fine figure of a man he was talking to?

He was not surprised that he'd been recognised. Many did, although they were of course too intimidated by his immense knowledge to speak to him directly. He nodded with dignity, and agreed to the important mission, shortly before throwing up on the man's boots. He recollected explaining patiently why he didn't have to be sorry: it was biodegradable, before he'd passed out. He'd woken up on the ship with all of his belongings from the inn, and a kind note from the innkeeper saying there was no charge, and he was happy to see him leave. He kept the note in his pocket, declaring that for the innkeeper to show such support in his new venture was beautiful.

Numair tried not to laugh during this story, and told him that he'd heard about the island and was a scholar too, but he hadn't been famous enough to be chosen in such a fashion.

The scholar patted his hand reassuringly and told him it was only a matter of time. After all, now he was paired up with the famous Keith Felixson. Next to a name like that, how could he fail to make a splash in the academic world? No, he said, your name will always be remembered.

Two days later, looking rather sheepish, he remembered to ask what Numair's name was. Numair did laugh at this one, and told him: Morgan.

After this initial hiccup, they got on brilliantly. Numair found that Keith was easy to talk to once he'd gotten used to another scholar- as long as he pretended to be slightly stupid, Keith was more than happy to prattle through everything he knew. And he didn't have to pretend to know less than him about rocks. Privately, he thought that even the gods who created the rocks knew less about them than this man. They certainly cared less.

The other people on the ship, who'd initially treated Numair with suspicion, started warming to him when they found he could distract the jabbering maniac and let them get on with their work. Thankfully, Keith believed in sleeping through the morning on the general principle that "rocks don't have opening hours", so Numair had plenty of time to talk to other people and, he thought rather cynically, preserve his sanity. He found it easier to talk to these people thinking of them as a clan rather than bandits- as they'd told him when he boarded the ship that they hoped to leave that life behind them. They regretted kidnapping the scientist, but they couldn't think of any other way to get a scholar on board the ship. If they'd known another one would just volunteer, then they wouldn't have done it.

"I don't think he realises he's been kidnapped," the mage assured them. They looked slightly happier, but after a few weeks confided that they wished they hadn't bothered. His enthusiastic voice carried, and anyone who had to remain within a few meters of it for more than an hour said they could feel their energy leaking away.

"We could throw him in the sea," They said gloomily, "But he probably wouldn't realise that he's supposed to drown."

"Why did you need him, anyway?" Numair asked, glancing from the prow of the ship towards the storage entrance. Tyro, the captain of the ship, shrugged and chewed on a piece of stale bread.

"There's a city on Tariro, in the mountains. It makes noises, and it's not made of any material we recognise. Some people think it's haunted, or that it's the door into another realm. They refuse to go near it." He spat an un-chewable crust over the side. "Which is daft, 'cos we could live there."

"So you need someone to confirm that it's a natural phenomenon." Numair finished. The captain looked at him levelly, still chewing.

"I don't know about that, Morgan. We just need to know if it's of this realm." He examined the rest of the bread closely, then stuffed it into a pocket on his belt and leaned against the rail. "The plains folks have got the stupid idea that there's some treasure or magic there, and that we're trying to find it. We can't get close enough to study it without fighting some. Think your friend will be able to cope?"

"I can protect him, if needs be." Numair replied. Tyro nodded and spat the second piece of crust over the side.

"Aye, I thought you might. You look like you can take care of yourself." Without waiting for a response, he sauntered off towards the stern, already yelling instructions to one of the sailors who was loitering there.

Rather than land when they reached the island, the sailors spent a few days making small adjustments to the ship so they could sail it up the widest river. Tyro explained to the mountain clan that this was a better idea, no matter how keen they were to stretch their legs. There were places to land and hide the ship inland, better than landing on some beach in the dirt like the plains people. From there it would only be a few days hike to the city.

Predictably, once they'd landed, it had taken almost brute force to get Keith to hike anywhere. Exclamations of joy echoed loudly among the valleys, making the people wince, and once Numair would have sworn he saw one of the condors start from the noise. The scholar would stop at every interesting outcrop and weep copious tears of joy over it, scraping samples and soon carrying armfuls of small wooden vials in a heavy wooden box. Surprisingly, he turned out to be surprisingly good at beating condors over the head with the box and an expression of abject terror. For the first time since they had met him, the bandits slapped him on the back and congratulated him on his fighting expertise.

"Rocks are fairly dense, as you know." He started, "They do tend towards making worthwhile counterweights in any weapon."

They grinned as one, their smiles freezing on their faces, and turned back towards the trail. Numair convinced him to pick up the pace by explaining about the completely alien rock forms that awaited, and reminded him that they would be returning by this same route- couldn't he leave his samples by the trail? It was unlikely that they would decay.

Keith sighed, and spent the evening examining each sample minutely before bidding it a fond farewell and leaving it by the side of a large (and easily identifiable) boulder. Their speed doubled the next morning. But there was no trace of his loss once they got to the city, climbing over a pass and catching their first glimpse from above.

It spread for miles, completely covering the sides of the facing mountains, like the glaze on the inside of a clay bowl. A smaller mountain rose in the middle of the circle, again covered in buildings, but completely hidden from the outside world by the surrounding cliffs. It was a natural citadel miles in diameter, glittering like ice in the sun. They spent the first day on the edge of the bowl, examining the rock. The mountain folk were visibly relieved when they heard what the strange silvery material was that the buildings were made from.

"There must be a network of subterranean caves in these mountains." Keith informed them, "The houses are all carved right into the rock, but there must have been natural openings for them to hollow out such large spaces without jeopardising the structure of the mountain. Then, with the application of glacial water, they increased the durability of the walls to negate their porous tendencies."

"What was that?" Tyro asked out of the corner of his mouth.

Numair replied in kind. "He said that they just built onto what was already here. They carved houses, threw water on them, and the ice lets in less air than the rock would. Because the rock is full of little holes."

Tyro nodded slowly. "If he says so." He glanced at the darkening sky and frowned. "We should move back to camp."

"Why can't we stay here?" Keith whined, "There's so much elementary research..."

"It can wait until morning. We won't stay here at night." One of the other bandits snapped, starting the climb back over the rim of the mountain. Keith started to protest loudly when a violent shriek ripped through the air, impossibly loud and shrill in the thin air. As one, the group slapped their hands over their ears and began to climb away, their faces white with fear. Once they were on the other side of the mountain it was quiet enough for them to stop protecting their ears, and they stared at each other, eyes wide.

"What was that?" Numair demanded, his ears still ringing. The sound was incredibly disturbing even here, a thin whine that got under the skin and made teeth ache. They walked away rapidly, still pawing at their ears. Tyro smiled without humour.

"I told you this place was haunted. Every night when the sun goes down, the ghosts shriek. Every morning when the light returns they sleep. Tomorrow we'll go to the main base and explore properly where the sound can't reach, but tonight..." He lifted his ear towards the city and winced at the noise that was still painful."Tonight, you'll probably have nightmares."


	7. Two Names

Daine couldn't sleep. The silence rung in her ears, more painful than any noise, and the nausea had come back. She wondered if she was actually sick, rather than just not used to the mountain air, or sailing, as the women had suggested when she'd still been ill after days in the camp. Walking had seemed to help, and the sudden forced inaction of the afternoon the bandits had chosen to sleep through bored her. She stood up silently and walked out into the cavern, glad that the women slept in a different nook to the men, and Elan wouldn't be following her. The blue light of the afternoon had faded to the orange hue of sunset, and the cavern seemed less sinister than it had before. The waters in the lake didn't seem as unnaturally still, and now she was used to the height of the ceiling the strange mixture of claustrophobia and sublime awe had faded. She walked to the side of the lake and sat down beside it, staring in and wondering if she could speak to the fish. Maybe the bats here were just unfriendly. The waters looked almost blood red in the rusty light, and she couldn't see the bottom of the pool. Her reflection stared back at her- Arra's face, not her own- and she sighed. With her fingertip she touched the surface of the pool, fracturing the image in a tide of ripples.

Something shifted beneath the surface of the water, and Daine squinted at it, trying to work out what it was. It looked like someone had thrown a piece of silk into the lake- a strange, light fabric drifting in the current, spinning with the tide. Except that there was no current, and there was no tide. The fabric swooped around, growing larger, and Daine realised it wasn't fabric at all but some creature speeding through the water towards her, its fins like gossamer, glowing white in the orange light as if it wasn't part of the real world. It came within a few feet of the surface and stopped, indistinct in the blurring water. She remembered how small it had looked when it first appeared and swallowed- it was at least twice as large as she was, and its silvery colour marked it irrefutably as an immortal. But why was an immortal living in this landlocked lake?

It drifted peacefully. She guessed it was watching her, although she couldn't see its face for the veils of fin that it wore. Daine couldn't hear; she had no way of telling if it meant her harm or not, but it didn't appear to be dangerous. Aside from its stunning size, it looked fragile, almost translucent. She remembered that she'd touched the water and wondered if that was what had called it. Shaking slightly, she placed the flat of her palm on the water and waited.

In a burst of violent speed, the immortal reached out an elongated hand and yanked her into the lake. She didn't even have time to shriek before water flooded her lungs. The water was icy cold, sending stabbing pain through every part of her body and crushing the remaining air from her lungs. The immortal held her wrist with a painful vicelike grasp, hardly moving as she struggled to free herself. Horribly, the surface of the water was only a few inches above her head- sweet air just beyond her reach- but she realised this creature would never let her reach it. In desperation she stared up at it, and saw the pure fury of its face for the first time. Skeletal bones protruded from pallid cheeks slashed with gills, which continued down its throat. Furious green eyes raged at her.

Please, she said out loud, stopping struggling to plead with it. A bubble of precious air escaped with her word. The creature started and narrowed its eyes.

You trespass, human creature! All who trespass must die! How many bones must pollute our pool before you learn this?

I didn't know! She cried with her voice and with her mind, barely wondering how she could hear it when all other voices were silent. Oh please, I didn't know, please let me breathe, I'm so sorry!

Your words won't... the creature stopped abruptly, head tilted to one side as if it were listening to something, its eyes now narrowed into slits. Snarling, revealing a mouth of needle-like silver teeth, it let go. Daine burst to the surface and gasped for air, not caring that she was still so close to the thing that tried to kill her. As soon as she could trust herself to move she swam to the edge of the lake and pulled herself out, still sobbing great breaths of the cold air. When she could think again, she turned to face the water again, sitting back by the water. The creature's head had surfaced, and it was breathing the cave air as easily as she was. Now that it was out of the water its gills had flattened and it looked more human, its immense fins drifting from its head like silver hair and dancing around it in the water. It watched her balefully.

"What are you?" Daine gasped. The creature opened its mouth, its voice a thin, snakelike hiss which blended with the wind that poured through the distant windows.

"The first one we drowned called us mermen. The second, fish. The third, monsters. We are not a what, we are a who."

"I'm Daine," The girl whispered, shivering in her wet clothes.

"You are Arra?" The creature asked. Daine wondered how it had heard her called that, and then remembered that the cave's frozen silence would let any noise carry for a long way. She smiled cautiously, knowing that if the creature thought she was deceiving it then she could be attacked again.

"I suppose... I'm both."

"Ah, there are two of you." The creature swam idly around in a circle. "I saved you for this reason. Thank me."

Thank you? You tried to kill me! Daine thought, but kept her smile. "Thank you. You saved me because I have two names? How did you know?"

It stared at her, not comprehending. The gills on its cheeks flared open abruptly and then closed, as if it was sighing at her stupidity. "I saved you because there are two of you. There is only one of me, and only one of all the other countless mer-fish-monsters. There is two of you. It is interesting to me. I saved you."

Daine thought about this, trying not to shiver too dramatically in case it scared the thing into dragging her back into the water. It didn't seem dangerous now that it was still, showing none of the unnatural speed and strength it had before. Out of the water, it looked even larger than she had thought. She wanted to ask it how she could hear it when all the other People were silent, but she didn't know if it would understand... or if she would understand its response.

"What is your name?" She asked instead, resolutely refusing to call it a mer-fish-monster. It blinked, and its lips curved in a smile that would have been almost pleasant if not for the teeth overlapping the lower lip.

"I am called Ghada. I am one of the females. I am a mer-fish-monster. But only one name: Ghada."

"Ghada." Daine smiled back, genuinely this time. "I am sorry I touched the water, I didn't realise it was sacred to you. I won't do it again."

Ghada made a gesture remarkably like a shrug, veils billowing in the water. "You have already touched the water. Touching it again won't make it less touched. It makes no difference if you do it again or not."

"Oh...kay. I think I understand that." Daine reached out over the water, holding out her hand in greeting. Ghada looked angry for a second, darting away with the same speed as before, and then glaring at the hand.

"What is this, Arra-Daine? You want me to pull you in again?"

Daine resisted the compulsion to pull her hand back, keeping it suspended over the water. "N-no. In my species it is a sign of greeting. It is polite."

"I did not drown you. I am polite." Ghada replied, her anger rapidly being replaced by bemusement. Daine drew her hand back and stood up, now almost unbearably cold. As she stood up, Ghada rose out of the water to match her height. When Daine was standing fully upright, Ghada's torso was barely out of the water.

"I'll tell the other humans not to touch the water." Daine promised. "Will you speak to me again?"

Ghada smiled fully, teeth glinting in the orange light. "To say goodbye I must. To say hello... I might."

Daine recognised this as a joke and grinned back, then bowed formally to the creature. When she straightened up, Ghada had vanished, and the water was once again devoid of movement and mirror-smooth. She ran back to the women's nook as quietly as she could, willing her teeth not to chatter when she stripped off her soaked clothes and wrapped herself in every blanket she could find. The biting cold was gradually replaced by warmth and she began to drift to sleep, loving every lungful of delicious air that she could breathe.

It wasn't until she woke up the next morning that she realised that she could hear the People again, their inane chatter filling the cavern with life and colour. She still felt sick, though. Great, she thought, I don't have one stupid sickness, but two. Her hair fell across her face in sticky strands as she pulled on her still-clammy clothes, and she pushed it back with an annoyed curse. For some reason it refused to lie flat- she guessed it had decided to be as contrary as the rest of her traitor body had that morning. She pulled the strand round to her eyes and blanched. It was her own untameable hair, not Arra's smooth black locks. Her hand was still the darker colour of Arra's skin, and when she checked her reflection in the lake she still looked like the other girl, but the disguise spell was failing. Rapidly she returned to her bedroll, found a spare skirt in her bag and tied it around her head in a rough bandana, hiding the guilty curls.

When she returned to the lake the guide was there, in the middle of yelling at the bottom of her voice at the other plains folk.

"I'm not saying you can't fish, just that it has to be in a river." She indicated the four torrents that poured into the still pool, their currents disappearing strangely into the stillness. "Same as where we get water. You can't touch the lake, there's a monster in it."

One of the men scoffed in a whisper, "A monster, really? Seera, you must be joking."

"I never joke." The guide retorted. Looking at her strict face, Daine could well believe that. "But if you want to try, by all means touch the water. I saw a man dragged in there the last time I was here, and he didn't even have a chance to scream before he went. Not even your bones will make it out of that lake. But by all means, if you think I'm joking, try." She stepped aside, gesturing for the man to approach the lake. He stared at her, and then shook his head, looking flushed.

"She could have told you this last night, couldn't she?" Elan's voice whispered from behind her. Daine didn't bother asking him how he knew, or how much he knew. She didn't bother speaking to him at all. She simply walked away.


	8. Exploration

y Keith's insistence they stayed in the mountains for three days, gritting their teeth against the screaming at night. No matter how long they listened to it they could not get used it it- the sound changed pitched and volume, but stayed at the same intensity that hair stand on end. Keith spent the time examining the city from above, taking samples and theorising about the people who had built it. The mountain folk tolerated his obsession for two nights, becoming increasingly tetchy, and finally declared that they would either move into the shelter or go back to the ship. Staying another night among the screeches was not an option.

It was a hike of about five miles as the crow flies to reach the smaller mountain at the hub of the city. Although it seemed like an easy trip, it soon became clear that it was far too easy to get lost. The buildings were constructed in a confused jumble, shaped to coincide with the curves of the land, and a road never headed in the same direction for more than fifty steps. The buildings got smaller towards the base of the mountains, and more trees had been allowed to grow between them. In some of the smallest buildings their roots had almost swallowed them whole, making it impossible to walk through a doorway or look through a window. When they began climbing back upwards the buildings grew more stable, and they started peering curiously into them.

Although they were made of the strange ice-rock, the buildings seemed normal enough. The size of the doors and windows suggested that the people who had made them were the same height and build as the humans who now explored them, although the city had obviously been abandoned for many years. There was no sign of disaster or war- there were no human remains or remnants of weapons that they could see. Numair asked if they could stop and actually go inside the houses when he saw that the larger ones had carvings on the inside walls, but Tyro shook his head.

"Once we reach the hub, we can come into the city as often as you like." He explained, "But we have to reach it before sunset. The screaming is louder the closer you are to the centre; it's enough to drive a man mad."

"It must originate from there," Keith declared, his voice excited. He pointed up a narrow street as they passed it, childishly excited at the sight of a small temple carved in the ice. "Can we-"

"No."

"But..."

"No." Tyro sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, leaving a section sticking up. "Look, master Felixson, once we get to the shelter you can do what you want. You've got work to do here, and we want you to be able to do it. But we have work to do as well. There are enemies here, nearby. They could be around the next corner, or in the next building. We need to establish a base where we can defend ourselves if need be, and protect our supplies. Once we've done that, you can explore to your heart's content."

They reached the top of the hub hill slightly before sunset, and Tyro lead them into a building that seemed just like the others. The group piled in, with the new people looking about curiously and the ones who had been there before looking bored. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the dim light- the windows were too tiny to catch the setting sun- and they blinked rapidly to get used to the dark. The building's floor was made of the soft dust of the roads, and the walls were bare of the carvings that had been in some of the other houses.. Keith stared up at the ceiling as he walked in, remarking on how the house was organically formed, and the roof was at the same incline as the mountain.

"Careful!" Numair suddenly exclaimed, yanking the man backwards. Keith's arms wind milled for a moment, and shock crossed his face as he saw the gaping hole in the floor he'd nearly walked in to. He yelped and pushed himself even further away from it, knocking the mage over.

"For Mithros' sake!" one of the bandits muttered under his breath. He glanced up at the others, lips twitching, and soon they were all laughing helplessly. Keith pulled himself upright, oblivious to the irate man he'd knocked down, and inspected the hole from a distance.

"It's very eroded," he said, his voice sincere, "I wouldn't be surprised if it collapses soon. There might be other instances of this around the city. We should watch where we tread."

Numair started laughing too, standing up. "Whatever you say, Keith." Now that they could see clearly, they could see a thin flight of stairs in one corner of the room, leading downwards. Checking briefly that everyone could see clearly enough in the dark to carry on, Tyro lead the way down the steps. In a hushed voice he explained that the steps were solid, but very old- the ice was slippery and worn in some places, and crumbling away in others. They must step with care. Numair wondered why he would bother mentioning something like that in such a close tunnel- his head nearly brushed the ceiling, and he could cling on to the walls- when suddenly the walls opened up and there was a rush of air. His hand grasped for the rock and failed, making a sick feeling of vertigo before he managed to retain his balance. They could feel rather than see the drop- the staircase hugged the wall on one side, and simply disappeared into blackness on the other. There was a rush of cold air from it, not strong enough to push them against the wall but enough to make them feel unbalanced. The dim light that filtered through the holes in the ceiling didn't light the darkness, but showed them the dim shapes of the other people walking down the steps. It was like trying to cross a ravine blindfolded. When Numair glanced out across the darkness (and immediately wished he hadn't) he saw that all the light seemed to be directed at the vast lake that covered the floor of the cavern. In the near-darkness it almost seemed to glow.

"How much further is it?" Asked someone, spawning a series of nods from everyone else. Tyro held up a hand to show that he'd heard- to turn around even slightly might mean death.

"It's not far. This is one of the most secret ways through the roof of the cavern, sorry it's so dangerous. It meets another cave a few hundred steps down, and that's where we'll meet the others."

"The others?" Keith asked, his voice shaking. Tyro's voice, when it returned, was calm and almost amused.

"Of course," He said, "This is where we mount our defence. It's exactly in the middle of the island. We've been compiling allies here for months. You didn't think that we were going to face down the Plains people on our own, did you?"

"Logically," Numair whispered to him, "This is also where the Plains bandits will be hiding, too. Are you sure it's the best place to be blundering in to so blindly?"

"They're all at the base of the mountain- silly beggars don't know how to climb." Tyro's voice was dismissive, especially for someone who'd spent most of his adult life commanding ships. "Besides, this place is massive. As long as we don't light torches in the main cavern they won't be able to find us."

They stumbled on in silence for several more minutes, and then breathed a group sigh of relief when the stairs evened out. The cave was still almost eerily silent. Tyro gestured to another entry that led from the stairs, just as black and ominous as the others. Just as Keith was about to object to going into such a dark place, the captain reached up and pulled the darkness to one side- it was a piece of cloth. As he pulled it away from the edge of the stone, sound filtered out. Numair guessed it must be spelled to keep out light and noise. They rushed through as quickly as possible, and the curtain swept shut behind them.

The immense room was filled with people. People cooking, talking, chatting and laughing. People practicing combat or sharpening arrow tips. People sleeping and walking around arm-in-arm. A bright fire burned in the center of the room, and the floor around it was littered with makeshift beds. The cave hadn't made a perfectly shaped room, and there were several hidden corners that hid weapons and stores of food and armour. Even old, infirm men and women seemed to be industrious, whittling arrows and telling each other jokes in shrill voices.

There was something frighteningly familiar about these men and women. It wasn't until later that night, when the new arrivals were greeted and efficiently given food, water and a place to sleep that Numair realised exactly what was bothering him. He sat down on the dirt floor, leaned against the wall, and tried to take in as much of the room as possible without obviously staring.

This wasn't a mere defence post. These people were building an army. And he'd be prepared to swear that somewhere in the base of the cavern, the other bandits were planning exactly the same thing. This wasn't going to be a mere fight- this was going to be a war. He looked up at the grimly determined way that some of the bandits were training, and shut his eyes in hopeless despair.

"Sorry Jon," he whispered, "I don't think there's going to be any way to stop this."

"What's, to quote the colloquial, up?" Keith asked in the closest thing he had to a joking voice. The man was obviously very happy to have arrived- for one thing, the bandits had amassed a supply of alcohol in one of the hidden alcoves- and he'd relaxed into the group in the same way a kitten relaxes into a bed of needles. Oblivious to the fact that he was already getting odd looks from the people he'd been speaking to, he threw himself on the floor and raised his cup in a toast.

"Are you sure you should be drinking?" Numair changed the subject easily, counting on Keith's short attention span for anything other than rocks. The man shook a finger at him.

"Tsk tsk, you should answer my question first. You always ignore my questions about you. You think I don't care."

"You don't care," Numair stated the obvious, turning away from the scholar. The other man shook his head and put another cup down carefully in front of his friend. Even without trying, the mage could smell the metallic sharpness of a strong liquor. Keith's voice was careful when he started talking again.

"Just because something doesn't interest me, doesn't mean I don't care about it." He scratched his head, thinking about this. "Yes, that makes sense. Do you understand? I can see no intellectual interest in learning more about another human being, but my emotional response, and common reason, dictates that you might want to talk about something that's troubling you."

Numair linked his hands behind his head and stared at the far wall. "That's... oddly comforting."

"They're wrong about this room being safe, you know." Keith's voice was conversational, but strangely serious. "The unique reverberating properties of the rock seem to be capable of carrying sound particularly well. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole cavern acted as an acoustic chamber. Effectively, given the dimensions and shape of the main area, we could say something here that would sound exponentially louder when it reaches the hub of the chamber."

"Where's that?" The mage looked sideways at him, actually interested for a change, and glad that the conversation had steered away from emotional responses. Keith looked slightly disappointed, as if his fellow scholar should have worked it out for himself.

"The lake, of course!" He pressed a finger to his lips, as he did when he was revealing a great discovery. Numair had never seen the man tremble quite this much. "The water must act as a kind of nullifying entity. I bet if you stuck your head under the water, you could hear every conversation in the whole cavern."

"You'd also drown." Numair replied, suddenly tired. He stood up, handing his untouched cup of drink to Keith. "Goodnight, Keith."

Keith watched the gangly mage walk over to his bed, a small smile crossing his face. With careful movements completely unlike his normal clumsiness, he produced a tiny object from his belt purse. From a distance, it would only have looked like a chickpea or an insect. Carefully, he placed it in his ear and leaned against the wall, eyes shut, listening.


	9. The Temple of Children

Exploring the lake would have to wait. The other bandits in their group, though perfectly happy to let them roam freely among the ruins outside the cavern, were adamant that they could only walk within it with an escort, and then only to the permitted areas. This was ostentatiously for their own protection- there were hidden traps and decayed pits everywhere, and several creaking staircases to be climbed to reach anywhere, but the two men complained about this to each other when they were alone outside.

"It's like they don't trust us." Keith's voice was unusually high pitched; he'd just been caught out by a solidly built woman who'd nearly carried him back into a safe area from the exciting rock he'd been studying. The climb out into the sunshine was exhausting, and the two men were in the habit of resting in one of the first buildings, out of sight, once they were outside. It also gave their eyes time to adjust to the light, which would have been too bright to their underground eyes even without being reflected from a thousand walls of ice. Numair decided not to get too involved in the argument- he wanted to explore the cavern as much as the scholar did, for different reasons, but he knew that making himself suspicious now would make it harder to sneak away later.

"Why should they trust us?" He asked, "We're new, we're not one of them... we're just around to find things out."

"But how can we find things out when we can't look at them?" Keith wasn't even speaking now, he was whining. Numair sighed and stood up. There was something about this man that was starting to annoy him. It was this whole childish act... no-one could seriously act like this for their whole life and not have had their nose removed by a well meaning but temporarily insane bystander. It just wasn't possible. Keith's face had taken on a look of cunning that was almost frightening. "I don't suppose you could magic us down to the lake?"

Numair shook his head. "No, I'm not powerful enough to do that. You saw on the way up... I'm only really good at casting shields. I can't even light a candle! Besides..." He hesitated, and then mentally shrugged. It wasn't as if Keith would tell anyone else. "Besides, my gift won't work in the cavern. It's like there are dampeners or something in there. I can't even make a spark."

"Hrm." Keith stood up, clearly disappointed at the idea but not caring about the reason why. "We'll have to construct another method, then."

Their exploration of the city hadn't been as exciting as they'd thought, so far. They'd started at the more common streets, trying to work out from the remains what kind of people had lived there. Those houses had fewer paintings on the walls than the ones further up the slopes, but there were more broken pots in the corners and dusty remains of fabric on the floor, almost fossilized by the frozen dust. The few paintings that were on the walls were often in the corners, almost hidden behind the remains of furniture. It wasn't until the fifth or sixth house when Numair suddenly realised.

"They're like shrines," He said, pointing at another one of the paintings. Like the others, it was merely a suggestion of blues and greens, so blurred as to be unrecognisable. Keith looked around, his eyes narrowing as Numair continued, "They're always in this corner, and there's always a small table in front of them. It's like the shrines to Mithros or the Goddess that people keep in their houses."

"Interesting. They face towards the South... towards the hub." He looked in the opposite corner, where there were the usual stairs to a second level, and frowned at them. "Hang on."

It took him a few minutes to scratch away some of the iced dirt from the wall of the stairs, but when he did turn away his fingernails were stained. Numair thought it was blood until he saw that it was in flakes- flakes of red and black paint.

"There's no shrine here, though." Keith answered the unspoken question. "It's just like at home: The shrine of the gods in the open, and the shrine of the dark gods hidden away. I'd be prepared to assert that there's a similar layout in every house."

"Who did they worship, though?" Numair squinted at the blue painting. "It's impossible to tell."

"Well," Keith rubbed the paint off his hands, wincing at the scratching flakes, "If it's anything like the system in Tortall, then the temples will be in the hub- those larger buildings, perhaps, that we thought were government buildings. The shrine is in the direction of the hub; perhaps there we shall find the answer."

"We should be systematic about this," Numair hesitated, "We have followed a logical string of evidence, right?"

"I think it's sufficient." Keith smiled briefly. "Besides, all these peasant houses are getting boring."

They returned to the cave entrance house and then continued climbing past it, heading for the larger buildings that capped the mountain. When they were closer they could see that these buildings weren't carved in as much as the lower buildings- they were made of stone where the others were made of ice, and the ground under them seemed less fragile. The houses became more like villas- surrounded by walls, with space for gardens that had long since decayed, and tiny shallow stone basins set into the ground to collect rain. They were still compact, designed to the specific layout that the whole city conformed to- even here, the roads seemed more like a maze than a street, and the natural shape of the land was allowed to remain. It took them longer than they had thought to reach the summit- they had to backtrack several times when they reached dead ends, or even wandered into the cavern by mistake.

Unlike the lower city, there seemed to be an entrance to the cave in every house here. Here, the shrines weren't small paintings on the corners of the walls, they were massive murals of blue and green and red and black. There were more details, but they were confusing. The blue murals, the paintings that should speak of life and peace, seemed to show strangely glowing eyes and oddly sinuous shapes, disturbing in their swirling serpent dances as they formed loops and knots in the patterns. The red paintings, on the other hand, often seemed to show children. And these children were not fighting, as would befit the colours of Mithros and the black god, but smiling or playing with toys. Odd chips and whole sections of the murals were always missing. The more they looked, the more they realised that in these strangely empty houses, the only things that were really damaged were the murals themselves. Everything else was either neatly bare or, at least, tidy. But some of the paintings looked like they had been attacked. Numair stopped looking closely at them when he saw markings that looked like fingernails had been scratched repeatedly across a child's face. It was eerie, especially in the red light that marked the sunset in these mountains.

"Will we have time to get back?" He shouted ahead to Keith, who was heading determinedly uphill. The other man didn't stop to reply,

"It only took us this long to get here because you kept getting lost. We can find our way back, downhill, with a moderately high turn of speed."

"You got lost too!" Numair yelled back, irked into running to keep up. Keith became temporarily deaf and supremely ignored him. The sky was still stained red, but it was only faint- the sign that there was an hour or so before the sun set fully. And the temple was so close now, it was so tempting to just carry on and see it, just for a minute, before they had to return to the crypts of the camp. The warren-like streets were all melding into a single large thoroughfare, which ran between a string of majestic buildings- still made of ice and stone, but this time built on a massive scale. Compared to these, the villas were tiny. The wind had scoured any decoration from the front of the buildings, but by the looks of the pillars and arches that formed their facades, the interiors would be impressive.

"They're all locked by some magic." Keith muttered, apparently regaining his hearing. He waved a hand at one of the doors, panting slightly as he recovered from the rapid climb. The door didn't look like it could move- it looked like a solid sheet of the ice-stone that had simply been fused into the door frame. The windows were the same. Apparently, when these buildings were abandoned, they were meant to stay that way. Numair's fingers itched to try to dispel the locks, to explore, but he didn't. If the temple was sealed in the same way he'd have to break that lock, and he might just get away with it if he claimed his gift was spent on that one task. More than one spell like that in a day could raise questions. He felt very pleased with himself for coming to such a reasonable compromise when he saw the entrance to the temple. Irritatingly, it wasn't sealed at all.

"Of course not," He muttered to himself as they climbed the flight of steps, "Who would dare to lock away their god?"

"You can see the whole island from here." Keith remarked, shading his eyes from the violently red sun. He pointed downwards, over the mountains. "Look, the mountains get smaller as they reach the coast. There's the plains bandits' camp."

Numair made a dismissive noise, not really listening. The inside of the temple looked strangely dark, without the blues and green's he'd expected from the island's patron god. The walls were red and black, the colour of the children's paintings. He stepped inside, eyes narrowed. If this was the temple of the dark gods, then there must be another temple- the green temple- somewhere else. But where? And why would they build the hidden temple at the top of the mountain, right in the center of the island?

"Interesting statues," Said his companion, sauntering in with his hands in his pockets. Aside from the geographical location of the place, and the stones it was made of, there was really nothing to interest him here. The statues raised a small amount of interest- they were made from a strange black rock- but even with casual inspection he could see that it was the same rock that he'd already taken samples of from the trail. They seemed quite normal- delicately carved statues, still keeping their detail in this temple, protected from the wind by the strong rock around them. They smiled up at him, the tallest one only four feet high, cherubic eyes gazing from youthful faces.

"Maybe red and black were their life colours," Numair's voice was different, more focused, as he thought out loud. Keith sat down, patting the nearest statue on the head and then examining the dust that came from it.

"They're always the death colours. Especially when they're combined like that." The dust was strange, almost too sharp. He sniffed it, and then tasted it. His eyebrows raised dramatically and he held out his hand to the mage. "Here, this is salt. Why would there be salt here?"

"This is a sacrificial altar; there are channels for the blood on the floor." Numair blinked and turned around, "Salt? From the sea?"

Keith shook his head wearily. Mages. You call that an education? "Can you smell the sea in the mountains? You think the wind just blows the salt for hundreds of miles uphill? And then brings it inside buildings?"

"Where else would it come from?" Numair turned around again, clearly more interested in the carvings on the altar. The stone table was carved into the floor and walls, growing out from one of them like a natural ledge. The wall behind it had the normal black and red carving, but there were no clear faces of children on this one, just strange spiked shapes in reds and blacks. The carving was deep; some of the details surrounded circular holes in the wall.

"The sun's setting." Keith's voice was sulky. "It's boring here anyway."

"Don't you think..." Numair started, and then paused. "Can you hear that?"

"It's too early for the screaming. Bandits?" The scholar suddenly looked nervous. Numair shook his head and put his finger to his lips, hushing the other man. The sound had been on the edge of his hearing, but it was growing louder. A strange, hollow whistle, like the sound of a bone flute. There was more than one note, but they didn't make a pleasant chord. The sound clashed and grew louder, and he realised it was coming from the holes in the altar.

"Interesting," Keith said, following the same line of thought, "The wind must be blowing through them. I wonder why they did it?"

The other man opened his mouth to answer, and then stopped. The statues in the room hadn't visibly moved, hadn't made a sound, but now their childlike faces were all facing them. He shivered and tapped Keith on the shoulder, showing him. Keith actually yelped when he turned around and saw them.

"Why...why would that happen?" He gulped. Numair made a helpless gesture and took a step away from the altar, expecting the statues' eyes to follow him. He was relieved when they didn't move- their innocent eyes were oddly disturbing.

"They are statues, aren't they?" He asked Keith out of the corner of his mouth. The scholar nodded, his own eyes wide. "Right, we're going to leave."

"We...we have to w-walk through them?" Keith trembled at the thought. The mage rolled his eyes- they're just statues, right?- and took hold of the man's sleeve, dragging him forward. The statues didn't move- their eyes were fixed on the altar, not the men- but it was still eerie.

They took three steps before the first statue screamed: a wail of pure childish intensity from a mouth of cold, dead stone. The second statue took it up, and then the third, each drowning out the flute-noise with their own cries. The two men looked at each other and ran, the screaming getting louder and louder around them as they neared the exit. Keith ran ahead, more practiced at running away, and started speeding down the mountain.

Numair hesitated in the mouth of the temple, his head already ringing from the noise. In that split second, he saw the face of one of the statues turn towards him, the angelic face of a young boy surrounded by stone curls. It screamed with the rest of them, but the face it turned towards him wasn't filled with fear.

The dead stone eyes burned with fierce, fiery rage.


	10. The War Begins

"You sing?"

Ghada smiled slightly and nodded. Now that Daine was more used to the creature's alarming size and appearance, she was getting better at reading her mood. Ghada actually turned out to be an excellent confidante. She had some kind of ability to hear and remember the smallest conversations, while at the same time having very little understanding of what they actually meant. She would repeat back whole conversations, treating secrets with the same nonchalance as an overheard discussion about where to dig a privy. The idea that she sang surprised Daine, who had assumed that the species was an almost silent one. She had never heard any of the other merfolk speaking, even when she strained to listen. She asked Ghada about it now, and the creature's smile widened.

"We like to listen. You can't listen when you speak. But when we hear something beautiful we can mimic it. We remember all the songs." She suddenly span around in the water, sending droplets of icy liquid flying in the blue light. For a split second, her skeletal face looked beautiful, lit up by sparkling light. "We dance in the deep. We sing. They used to sing back to us." Her smile faded. "No more. So we sing."

"I don't know any songs." Daine said apologetically, "Only folk songs, and I can't sing."

"Then you were made to listen." Ghada swam closer, the closest she'd ever come to the shore. "It is good."

Daine didn't press the point. Ghada's curiosity about her didn't mean that she actually listened to what the girl was like- she already had her own ideas, and looked happier when Daine simply agreed with them than if the mortal argued with her. Daine had tried to correct her before, and the creature had simply gotten bored and swam away. Nor did she ask who "they" were. She'd tried that a few times, but Ghada became deliberately vague when asked about the people who used to live here.

"Were they singing something like a prayer? Because it's sacred here?" She asked instead.

"Not sacred. No gods." Ghada's voice became clipped, usually a sign that she was getting annoyed. The first time she had gotten really infuriated with Daine it had started like this- a few clipped words, and suddenly the creature had crashed back into the water, fins flying. The girl had left quickly, nervous that the loud noise would wake up the people in the camp she'd been sneaking away from each night to speak to the immortal. The next night, when she called to Ghada in her mind, the creature hadn't answered. She'd taken the chance to sleep, exhausted from the nights trying to get information out of Ghada, and the days hunting and setting up a fortified camp in the cavern floor.

Every few days, new people arrived. Daine had started to be trusted as a guide, leading the bandits into the cave silently and telling them about the danger of the lake. One part of her mind counted these new people, took stock of their weapons and the way their eyes were guarded even among their friends. The other part smiled politely and took her new job as guide easily, blending in with the other woman who had started to arrive, now that the cavern was "safe". After a few days of Ghada's silence she'd joined one of these teams, curious about the outside of the cavern, but the city looked dead and empty to her. Even the birds didn't roost there. She returned to the cavern with the bats and the rats, and realised she was content there. Not happy- she was too lonely to be happy, even with the cheerful conversation of the bandit women who'd made the journey- but not desperately unhappy any more. Her appetite returned and she no longer felt sick... and when one of the women mentioned that their ship had arrived two months ago, the news honestly shocked her.

Elan left her alone most of the time, as he spent the daylight hours exploring the city and rarely made a point of speaking to the women. Sometimes Daine felt his eyes following her as she worked, or saw his silhouette near the lake. She hadn't felt the strange sick headache of his sight since the coastal camp, and guessed that he might be having problems with his Gift in the same way that she had.

Apart from speaking to Ghada, Daine hadn't done anything a normal bandit wouldn't have done, and Elan already knew about Ghada. The bandits were forming their own small army in the cave, and everyone was busy with preparation and making camp. She guessed that when everything became more dangerous, Elan was expecting her to fight for them as her side of the agreement. She had no problem with that- bandits were bandits, after all- but the fact that he still watched her made her uncomfortable, simply because she didn't know why.

It had been a full week before Ghada's soft wild-voice had whispered into her mind again, asking her to come and speak with her as if nothing had happened. It had been the first time that Ghada had called for Daine, rather than the other way around, and the first time that Daine realised that the creature was as curious about her as she was about it.

This time, when Ghada's voice became annoyed, Daine simply sat silently and let her calm down. When she felt that the creature was relaxed again, she asked how Ghada could have both a wild voice and a spoken voice. Ghada blinked, not comprehending.

"I listen in many ways, like you."

"Is that what you meant by there being two of me?" Daine tried not to sound too eager- this question had been irking her in the weeks since she'd first heard it. Ghada sighed in the way she always did when this mortal asked something so stupid.

"I meant that there are two of you, as I said. You should learn to listen."

"Were the... the people who sang to you, were they two people as well?"

"No." Ghada's impatience turned to a kind of lazy tolerance. "You're the first two-person I've seen." Her relaxed eyes suddenly flicked to one side, narrowing. "There are two humans speaking of the lake. They are not people you know. They are coming here."

The other bandits. Daine thought rapidly, picking up her bow from the ground where she'd left it. When she looked up at Ghada again, the creature had vanished without even leaving ripples in the surface of the lake. Hiding seemed like a good idea- even without any real loyalty to her group, she didn't want to be captured by the other group. Their questioning, she imagined, would be as unforgiving as Elan's reaction if he thought she'd told them anything. She ducked behind a pillar and blinked in the dark, her eyes still accustomed to the brighter blue light that surrounded the lake.

Even without Ghada's hearing, she could hear one of the voices speaking. It carried across the rock with a whining pitch. "Are you sure we should be doing this, Morgan?"

She couldn't hear the reply, but the same voice sounded louder, more agitated when it answered. "Alright, so what if it was my idea? I changed my mind. I don't like being near those bandits, and Tyro will catch us, and then we won't be allowed to go with the soldiers to examine the statues tomorrow..."

"Keep listening." A voice breathed near her ear. Daine spun around, hand reaching for her belt knife at the threat, and then forced herself to relax. It was Elan- unwelcome, but not deadly. He smiled slightly, but didn't comment on her trying to attack him. Instead, he nodded towards the sound. "Sounds like a couple of renegades. Might tell us where the others are camped." His eyes lit on her bow, and he nodded approvingly. He already knew she was a good shot- when they hunted outside the tunnels she shot cleanly, hating to see the animals struggle for life. She'd seen no reason to hide this skill from the others- it's not like she was the only archer in the world. Perhaps he saw the weapon as a sign of her loyalty to him, her side of the agreement.

"Been following me again?" She asked, her voice just as quiet. Elan smiled slightly but didn't answer, just nodded towards the lake. Two figures were nearing the shore. They were still arguing- the shorter one much louder than the taller one- and when Daine heard the second man's voice she felt sick. When he stepped out of the gloom into the blue lake light his silhouette was the same, slightly thinner but unmistakably his. Fierce joy and absolute terror collided in her mind for a dizzying instant.  
 _  
Please don't be him,_ half of her mind pleaded, _Not here, not now, please be safe somewhere else..._

_Please be him, the other half cried, Be here, be near me, be alive..._

She realised she was shaking, the bow nearly falling from her hand. Elan was staring at the two intruders raptly, but all he had to do was look around and he'd see her pallor and know something was odd. She pressed her free hand against the rock pillar, drinking in the icy coldness of it, willing herself to calm down. They weren't too near the lake now- they seemed to be staring at the roof of the cave. She had time.  
 _  
Ghada!_ She cried desperately, _Ghada, please listen to me! Don't hurt these men!_

 _Orders, little mortal?_ Ghada's voice sounded amused for a second, but then became serious. _If they touch the water, they have to die._

 _Can't you... can't you please leave them alone? Just this once? They don't know anything about it!  
_  
A slow ripple breathed across the surface of the water as Ghada swam beneath. The man who wasn't Numair pointed at it and said something which Daine couldn't hear. She bit her lip as they both turned to look.

"At least if they touch the water, we won't have to bother to kill them." Elan looked disgusted as he turned away. "Why bring scholars here when the land's not even theirs?"

"They can't touch the water!" Daine hissed back, close to tears. "It's sacred. Besides..." She thought rapidly, as Ghada's voice swept into her mind in one final word.  
 _  
No._ And suddenly the immortal was gone- not just her voice, but any feeling that she was around at all. The ripples neared the shore and were still, waiting, patient.

"Besides?" Elan's voice was impatient. Daine dug her fingernails into the pillar, frantically trying to think of another way out of this. She shook her head, pretending that the two men were doing something worth watching, and the bandit looked away.  
 _  
Warn him._ The first half of her mind piped up. She closed her eyes, not daring to look up, just trying to think. _I can't warn him, then Elan will know who he is... or think I'm a traitor. And then all this would have been for nothing. Numair wouldn't thank me._

_But he'd be alive._

_Only as long as the bandits let him live, and they're not exactly our friends._

_Mithros, he's going near the water. Please Ghada, don't..._

Without conscious thought, her hands notched an arrow onto her bow and raised it silently. She was suddenly aware that Elan was watching her again, as intently as she was watching the men.  
 _  
If the other man touches the water first, then I'll let him. Please let him touch the water first. Stop walking forwards, Numair!_

_Don't hesitate, aim carefully. He'll defend himself, he'll be fine._

_But what if his Gift has failed, too?_

_Don't think like that._

_I wish my hands would stop shaking..._

"The tall one's going to touch the water." Elan's face had lit up with interest, as he watched the lake. Already, small ripples were dancing over the surface. Ghada was ready to strike.

"I know." Daine whispered. Her heart beat seemed louder than her voice in her ears. "He mustn't."

She watched him take one more step forward, and watched her hands fire the arrow. Time seemed to move too slowly. He was still too far from the water to fall into it, but what if he rolled? What if she missed? She watched, waiting for the soft glare of light that she'd seen a hundred times before, when he'd guarded himself from arrows in the war. In a cold haze she saw him notice the white arrow in the black air, and she saw it burying itself in his leg.  
 _  
Why didn't he deflect the arrow? He's usually so good at shielding himself..._

She watched him fall into the cold stone dust, in pain but blessedly alive. She saw the other man turn white and spin around, looking for the archer.

"What did you do that for?" Elan didn't bother to whisper, his voice was almost a shout. She pressed a shaking hand to her forehead and wondered if she was turning to stone; her skin felt so cold.

"They mustn't... touch the water." She whispered, her words hitching in her throat. "They mustn't know that the lake... that the lake's a weapon."

"A weapon?" the man's voice got quieter, more thoughtful, as he glanced up at the lake. Daine ignored him, still staring desperately at the two men. The shorter one was helping Numair to his feet, taking the weight from his leg. The mage was very pale- although not as pitifully white as his comrade, Daine noticed with disjointed pride. The idle part of her mind wondered why he was working with such a coward. The rest of her mind screamed at her relentlessly.

"Arra!"

Numair looked around sharply at the pillar at the word, and then down at the arrow. Elan had to repeat the name a second time before Daine remembered who she was, and looked around at him. In her white haze, it seemed obscene that the man was smiling.

"You're brilliant," Elan declared, not caring to keep his voice down. "A weapon- yes, that's just what it is!"

Daine blinked at him, and then looked back around. The two men disappeared into one of the tunnels, but not before she saw the look of broken realisation on Numair's face. It hurt more than an arrow ever could.


	11. The Spy Discovered

It was best to pretend to be ill. She couldn't hide the fact that she was white and shaking when she got back to the camp, even in the half light that made up their lives. Elan didn't look concerned, but looked slightly disappointed. Perhaps he mistook her reaction for cowardice. Daine didn't care- she'd done what she had to do in the few seconds she'd had to think, but now her mind was spinning with other things she could have done.

And through it all, constantly, haunting her sleep, was the expression in Numair's eyes when he'd realised it had been her who had fired the arrow.

The women who were in the camp were the battle hardened matriarchs of their family clans, used to battle and sickness. They were bemused by this girl's sickness and let her sleep through the day, whispering to each other that maybe it was the cave, the darkness- this girl who is so surefooted in the dark has never been seen in the sunlight. Perhaps the darkness has attacked her spirit. Perhaps she has been called by one of the dark gods.

She woke up at midnight, the time when even the bats were silent and flew on wings of velvet. Everyone was asleep around her. Creeping out was a matter of habit, and she did it easily, letting her feet find their way in the darkness and her ears tell her where the guards were. Ghada heard her footsteps and called to her, but Daine ignored her. She wasn't going to the lake tonight. She walked around the base of the cavern until she found one of the crumbling slopes that led upwards into the roof caves, and started to climb. When the slope disappeared into cliffs and rocks and silence, she hid in the nearest place and shut her eyes.

A few minutes later, a single bat flew through the cavern, swooping with none of the odd gait that bats usually have. Unlike the other bats, it didn't call out or hunt for insects or roosting spots. It flew straight upwards towards the ceiling, towards the white moonlight that didn't dare to venture towards the cavern floor. It squeaked from time to time, getting its bearings and mentally cursing the fact that it couldn't see. An owl would be able to, but it would be conspicuous in this dead space. She used her sensitive ears instead, listening to the sounds of the cavern. Like Ghada had said, the sound all seemed to get sucked into the lake, and echoed loudly around the base. It was like trying to pick out one voice in a choir. She rested on one of the middle pillars, her head aching from trying to listen and fly at the same time, and waited for her ears to adjust.

She heard the breathing of the people in her camp, and the breathing of the others- a single sea of life that united them both. It melted into the whisper of the wind, making a sigh that had no place. She listened for footsteps, but could hear none. She listened for the slow reflection of metal in the breeze, but the metallic rocks laughed at her. Nearly a mile below her, something splashed gently in the lake, and she heard every drop as it fell.

Ghada, she called, biting down her urge to scream at the creature, How do I listen?

The water became still. In her blind darkness, the soft stillness was as clear as a picture. Ghada's voice was nearly kind. What are you listening for, little bat?

The other camp. The... the strangers who came to the lake last night.

They sing behind a wall of cloth. The creature became silent, and Daine thought that might be all she was getting. She flicked her ears, trying to hear any kind of singing, but the breath of the cave was without words. But, cloth? Cloth absorbed sound, didn't it? She listened for it, the flat sound of suppressed echoes in a world of mirrors. Below her there was a dead sound where the camp was hidden, a missing note in the song of echoes. Her ears twitched, searching for something similar, but she couldn't find anything.

And then...there! A sudden silence, a tiny flaw in the mirror. Smaller than a camp, more silent than cloth, but definitely not a part of the cavern's natural melody. She flew towards it, not knowing what she would do when she found it. Even when she was beside it, she still couldn't hear it- it gave off no sound at all. She wondered if it was spelled. Her eyes shifted in the darkness, becoming the round orbs of an owl, but the cloth was still nearly invisible. It was hidden in a cave entrance just like the thousands of others. Dim light spilled from the edges of it, and underneath it, but even this was dim and silent. It would have to be spelled, to make the air around it act like this. The tiny bat crept under the cloth into the room beyond, and hid.

When her owl-eyes adjusted to the sharp brightness of the dim fire, she looked around her. If she didn't know better she would have thought it was one of her own group's camps- the way it was organised was exactly the same, but on a larger scale. The people there were all sound asleep around the fire, their bedrolls closely placed against the cold stone. Large containers simmered with food and glittered with water. This communal room led off into lots of smaller caves, like an enormous rabbit warren. She could hear people breathing in these rooms, too, and guessed that they were the leaders. It occurred to her that Elan would have walked through fire to see this room. She deliberately didn't count the people there, or look for weaknesses in their defence. She looked at the faces, instead. Asleep, you could almost forget that these men and women were criminals. The face she was searching for wasn't there.

There were two other patches of silence calling to her in the closeness of the cave. One was a large cloth in the middle of the wall, and she guessed that might be where the bandits discussed their plans in relative privacy. The second was tucked away in the back of the cave, as far from the sleeping area as it was possible to get. She headed for this one, memories of the war's medical tents in her mind. The cloth they were made from was always spelled to be silent- you didn't want your enemies or your soldiers to hear people screaming or crying in sickness. There were two people sleeping near the entrance- an axe-faced woman and the man who had been near the lake. She was glad the man was there, worrying. She hoped his dreams were full of arrows.

When Daine crept under this door, the room was velvety dark and nearly silent. Only one person breathed in this room, and the noise was beautifully familiar. There was something unnerving about not being able to hear the people she knew were sleeping a few feet away. Trying not to think of what might happen if someone saw her there, she sat by the wall and turned herself back into a human. The stub end of several candles lay by the door; she ran her hands through them until she felt the rough edges of a tinder box, and lit one of them. It spluttered into life, and she could see.

It was a tiny cave. If more than two or three people got sick they wouldn't be able to fit in here. The ceiling was quite low, and swaths of rough cloth had been tied up in the lowest places to stop people hitting their heads. There were a few boxes neatly arranged along one wall, and some rags, but nothing that suggested they were ready for a war. Numair was lying under a rough blanket by one wall, sleeping peacefully with his head resting on one hand. Despite herself, Daine couldn't help smiling. It had been months since they'd spoken to each other, and she was almost afraid to wake him in case this was just a dream. Hesitantly, she reached out and traced the line of his cheek.

"You idiot," She whispered, "Why didn't you defend yourself?"

He woke up so rapidly he almost hit his head on the wall, eyes shocked. "Daine! How did you..." He cut off his own sentence with a gasp, one hand reaching down to his leg as he'd moved it. Daine's breath caught in her throat as if the pain were her own.

"I'm so sorry," Her voice was almost inaudible. "I didn't want to hurt you. I just wanted to keep you away from the lake."

He laughed shortly, not looking at her. "I was trying to work out why you would do it, and I couldn't. The lake looked harmless enough."

"It isn't. I thought you would shield yourself. I didn't mean to..." Daine realised she was twisting her hands together and stopped, staring at them. She didn't dare look up, to see the painful doubt in his eyes. A third hand wrapped itself around hers, warm and loving, and the weight on her heart was suddenly lifted.

"My leg will heal, sweetling. If it was the least I had to pay for you to come and find me, then I'm happy for it." She looked up into eyes that were bright and tender, and with a cry she wrapped her arms around him. His lips found hers, and for that moment the darkness of the cave was banished in soft warmth. It was Numair who finally pulled away, looking slightly breathlessly towards the doorway. Daine sighed and tried to pull him back.

"No, someone might catch you," He murmured, brushing a curl of her hair back from her cheek. She pulled a face, not moving away.

"They'd see a bird, or a bat."

"How would a bird get in here, Daine?" Numair made a point of looking around the spartan room. "A human is, at least, believable."

"And how many naked women have you been seen with, to make this story so believable?" Daine demanded, mock-serious.

"Certainly not as many as I'd like." He replied in kind, a mischievous smile on his lips. "Are you naked? I hadn't noticed."

"And here I thought you were just being polite."

"No, polite would be not telling you how thin you look. Is there not enough food in your camp?" The man's voice was still playful, but his eyes were serious. Daine shook her head dismissively.

"There's plenty. I was too seasick to eat it, is all." They both flinched as the curtain scraped across the rock loudly, but no-one came into the room. They breathed out as one, and Daine started laughing.

"We're jumping at shadows, now." She pushed her hair back from her forehead irritably. "What are they like, these people?"

"They seem quite nice, but then, on the other hand, they are casually forming an army." Numair smiled- it was good to be able to speak frankly to someone. Ignoring the shooting pain from his leg that the movement cost him, he drew Daine into his arms and kissed the top of her head. "Their leader is a good man, I think. But I don't know what he's planning."

"We might as well be in the same group." Daine's voice was slightly bitter. "You could be talking about the plains people. Except that their leader isn't a good man, he's a see-er. He sees what people are thinking and acts on it, without telling them he's reading their thoughts."

"That's illegal." The mage sounded appalled. "That's against all the laws of..."

"Do you think he cares? Here? Do you think that it matters to him?" Daine realised her voice was rising and forced herself to calm down. "Anyway, none of them seem to know, and they all think he's a good man. So maybe it doesn't matter at all."

"How much does he know about you?" Numair asked quietly. Daine smiled crookedly and half-shrugged. There was no point making him worry when there was nothing he could do about it. She wondered briefly if he was doing the same thing, lying to make her feel better, and the thought made it hard to speak. She cleared her throat and tried again.

"Just stories. As Alanna would put it, he seemed surprised that I'm not ten feet tall." She decided to change the subject. Talking about the bandits made this room seem smaller, colder, like their fragile haven was about to be destroyed. A memory made her smile, "You called me Daine, earlier."

"It's your name."

"It's nice to hear it! I was starting to think I'd be Arra until the sky fell down." She turned slightly so she could wrap her arms around him, and nestled against him. Here was safety, and warmth, and friendship, and love, without suspicion or spying or fear. Those were of Arra's world, not hers. Arra couldn't feel this happiness of closeness, or the quiet peace of friends. These were things that Arra could only dream about, wish for. These were things that lived in hearts, not in memories, and not in the false words that shaped her life. These things were home. A single, simple word bore more meaning than a thousand sonnets, and the simple gift had been spoken so lovingly that she'd nearly missed it. Fierce, burning love made her want to cry, but when she could speak again it was in a passionate whisper. "Thank you, Numair."

"Daine," the sound rumbled deep in his chest, blending with his heartbeat. The girl didn't look up, so he held her closer. "Sweetheart, this won't last forever. We will go home, I promise."

This time she did look up, her eyes reflecting the candlelight, and he kissed her. And this time they felt no fear of being discovered, no wariness of shadows, just the warmth and the slow burning softness of their haven in the cold stone tomb. Time became meaningless, seconds marked only by the deepness of breaths and the slow flickering of the dying candle. When the flame finally died they slept with it, trusting the darkness to guard them, wanting to spend a few brief hours as themselves and not their lying names. They lit a new one a few hours before dawn and spoke quietly, still holding each other tightly, not wanting the sun to rise. When the curtain rustled, it was a violent ice-cold sound that shot ice through their veins. They both froze, staring up at the doorway. Numair relaxed when Keith walked through, although his eyes were guarded as he nodded to the man. Keith smiled a greeting, and then double-took as he realised that his friend wasn't alone in the room.

"Oh, I say," Keith prattled nervously, "Do I know you, young lady? Morgan, if I'd known the healers here were that committed I'd have gotten shot myself."

"Don't stare at her." Numair said darkly. Keith looked away rapidly and stared fixedly at the wall, a deep blush spreading over his cheeks. Daine was about to jump to her feet and run away before Numair caught her wrist and shook his head, passing her one of the blankets. When she looked at him quizzically he smiled briefly and let go. She smiled back, realising that he had a plan.

"Sorry," The mage said laconically to the embarrassed scholar, "I shouldn't have burst in on you like that."

Keith went even redder. "I needed to talk to you. They're going back to the statues this morning, and...but, but I'm so sorry, I didn't know that..." his eyes flicked to Daine, and he looked slightly relieved to see that she was covered up. He bowed awkwardly. "I apologise, miss."

"Keith, this is Arra." Numair said easily. "Arra, Keith. He's another scholar."

She took the hint and bowed her head in greeting, trying to think like Arra again. Keith's blush faded slightly as the other man continued speaking, "Arra's my wife. We had to take different boats, and she ended up with the other group."

Keith seemed to accept this, but opened his mouth to ask a question. Before he could speak, he looked at Daine properly for the first time and gasped. "Hang on..." his eyes widened, "You're Arra? You're the one who shot him! I saw you. You shot him. With an arrow."

"And a bow," She offered.

"And you're his wife?"

"We had an interesting courtship." Numair's voice shook with laughter. "But as much as I'd like to tell you about it, Arra needs to leave."

"But..." Keith had the lost expression of someone who had more questions than one head could hold. "But why leave? You're here now."

"People might recognise me from the other camp. They might think I'm a spy," Daine made her voice as vulnerable as she could manage. She looked at the floor, biting her lip. "I just wanted to see my husband. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Keith is quite chivalrous, sweetling." Numair said reassuringly, "I'm sure he wouldn't be that cruel."

"No-no, I... of course not." The man's voice was a blustered combination of pride and embarrassment. "No-one else is awake, mistress Arra. Please leave now before anyone sees you." He looked away again frantically, blushing, as they kissed each other goodbye.

"Thank you, Keith. You're a good man." Daine kissed him lightly on the cheek as she walked past, and then stepped through the curtain. She stopped short in the darker shadows near the entrance and shape-shifted rapidly, letting the blanket fall away and hoping one of the bandits would think that someone was just untidy. A tiny bat flew from the cave unnoticed, and stopped by the lake on the way back to thank the strange aquatic being that lived there for her help. Ghada asked her what noises and words there were beyond the silent curtains, not in the least concerned with the fact that the girl she normally spoke to was now a bat. Daine told her that the night was beautiful.


	12. There are Two of You

Long shadows of the morning crept through the temple, making deep pools of inky darkness on the decaying tiles of the floor. Any one of the shadows could hide a crack that led into the cavern below, and the men all knew it. They tread carefully, not trusting the ground under their feet or the tricks that their eyes were playing on them.

"Well, I could easily believe they were moving too." Tyro leaned closer to one of the statues, his nose inches away from its own. "They're quite creepy, aren't they? The way their smiles don't quite reach their eyes... who would make a temple to a group of children?"

"They really moved." Keith's voice was stubborn. The leader smiled and patted the statue on the head.

"Could be. Could be. Of course, what could a statue of a child do to you?"

"Wait until it grows up, then it will be scary." One of the other men offered, setting off nervous laughter. Despite their flippant words they could all feel it- the strange atmosphere that tingled down their spines, like they were being watched by unseen eyes. Being surrounded by the red-painted walls was like being inside a giant mouth, with the pillars of stone cutting through like monstrous teeth. They stayed closer to each other than normal and didn't touch anything, especially not the uncomfortably blood-coloured alter. Tyro, on the other hand, seemed quite happy to be there, and looked around with interest. Keith explained to him about the holes in the walls, and how they whistled when the wind blew through them at sunset.

"Right, so it's that which makes the screaming noise?" Tyro nodded to the men, who reached into their pockets and bags for something. Keith shook his head and caught the other man's sleeve, making him look at the statues.

"They scream. The walls just set them off."

"Keith, I know you're into rocks and all that, but let me explain something that I don't think you understand about them." A vein of iron ran through Tyro's normally patient voice. "Rocks don't scream. They can't, they're rocks! Just because they look like people doesn't mean they can talk to you!"

"What kind of idiot do you think I am?" The man demanded, raising his voice. "I'm telling you they're not statues at all, they're something else. If rocks don't scream then they're not rock, but something else that can make that noise!"

"Whatever." Tyro yanked his sleeve away. "I won't argue like this. If the walls start that noise, then all we have to do is seal the walls. Easy." He reached into his bag and pulled out a heavy square packet, wrapped in stained cloth. When it was unwrapped, Keith saw that it was a block of clay, and that all the other men had them as well. They must have scraped it from the floors of the cave when he told them about this place. They must have planned it. They weren't planning to listen to him at all, just do the thing they thought would solve the problem easily. He threw up his hands and walked out of the cave, wishing Numair was here so he could talk to them. People listened to him. He was in the city somewhere- the healers had found that their magic worked if they went far enough from the cave, so as soon the screaming in the city had stopped that morning they'd taken their patient for a walk. Or, at least, a hop. Keith didn't know how fast Numair could walk on one leg, but he bet he could catch him up if he was quick.

When he was walking out of the cave, the light caught his eye and half-blinded him for a split second. Something streamed past the corner of one eye and he rubbed at his eyelid, thinking it was a bit of dirt. When he looked back into the temple the walls looked dark and forbidding. The statue that Tyro had touched couldn't be seen at all. Which was odd, because he thought it was lit up by the slanting light. Keith shrugged and walked away. The light always plays tricks in the morning.

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Daine got back to the camp just as the first colours of dawn were streaming through the cave. From experience she knew that no-one would be awake yet, but at the same time a knot of fear rooted itself in her stomach. Nobody saw her- or, at least, she didn't see anybody seeing her- and when she got back to the women's cave she dressed quickly. She made more noise as she relaxed into her normal morning routine. She smiled and bid good morning to the other women as they started to wake up, grumbling at the sharp morning air.

"You're in a good mood this morning," one of them jibed over their breakfast of flat bread. "We usually don't get more than half a smile from you before lunch."

"Is it that unusual?" Daine asked, surprised, and then nodded slowly. "Ye-es. I guess I've been homesick."

"Haven't we all?" Another woman muttered, glaring up at the rock-sky that loomed over their lives. General grunts of agreement ran through the group. The women were universally sick of darkness and dank and damn spooky lakes.

"I know why you're so happy," a sharp-faced woman said suddenly, a sly smile on her lips. Some heads turned from their own conversations curiously. The woman's smirk turned to the sycophantic grin of the born gossiper. "I think it might have something to do with you sneaking off and staying out all night." Her voice turned to a carrying drawl, and more heads turned their way. Daine could feel herself going pale. But, surely, if they suspected her of spying, they'd just tell the men..? She looked at the knowing smiles on the circle of surrounding faces, heard the whispered comments and jokes that were guarded by raised hands, and suddenly realised what they were saying. She blushed bright red, setting off a chorus of giggles.

"It is, it is!" The sharp-faced one shrieked, gasping with laughter. "But who was it, I wonder?"

"Who said it was anyone?" Daine snapped back, mortified. The woman shook a finger at her playfully.

"I've seen you sneaking off for weeks now, Arra. But to stay out all night!" Around her, her friends made expressions of mock shock. Daine stared at the floor, willing it to swallow her up. Quicksand would be better than this! The women started shouting out names, watching her for a reaction- people she'd been seen speaking to, people she'd never even heard of, old, young, tall, short, ugly, handsome...

"What about Elan?" Sharp-face raised an eyebrow and leaned forward confidentially. "He's been watching you."

"Have you been following me around, too?" Daine demanded, stung. The woman shrugged with one shoulder.

"When someone like Elan does something strange, everyone knows about it. He's done it before. But you should know better."

"It's not Elan." Daine stood up. Around them, the bandit women were packing away their breakfast things and getting ready to leave. The woman's eyes followed her as she did the same.

"As you say." She replied archly. The others smiled behind their hands, whispering to each other as they trailed out. Daine knelt by her bedroll, willing her hands not to shake and not quite knowing why she was upset. The fact that these women thought she liked Elan in that way seemed horrible. When she thought of the man at all, it was with the harsh friction of the captive to her captor. The thought of him being anywhere near her, let alone touching her, made her feel sick. She didn't raise her head as the others left the cave and they laughed, mistaking her anger for embarrassment.

One woman hung back from the others, hanging her head shyly until they'd all left the cave. Her voice was soft and melodic in the empty room. "We were just playing games. Don't be angry."

"I'm not," Daine didn't look up from tidying her bedroll. The woman dropped something on the floor next to her, where it landed with a dull clink.

"I noticed... you don't have one, that I could see." She hesitated, feeling the need to explain. "You should have one. I used to be a midwife's 'prentice, and I kept some. I don't need it, see."

Daine looked around, confused, and picked up the metal object. It was a pregnancy charm, hanging on a knot of plaited wool. The woman smiled at her, mistaking her confusion for acceptance, and left before she could be thanked. The curtain whispered as it shut behind her, leaving Daine alone. She held the charm up to the flickering candlelight.

It was made of cheap metal, barely even gleaming grey in the half-light. The symbols that were scrawled on it were spiked and untidy, as if the person who'd made it had done so in a hurry with a blunt nail. It was nothing like the one that she'd bought in Tortall, which was carefully shaped to look like part of a normal necklace. She raised her hand to her neck absently at the thought of it, and froze when her fingertips touched nothing but bare skin. It was gone.

Why hadn't she realised? Now she thought about it, she couldn't even remember the last time she'd had it. It had been like the badger claw- just something that was always there, that she never really thought about. When she'd given the claw to Numair the emptiness where the necklace should have been had shouted at her, but she thought it was just the claw she was missing... goddess above, had she been wearing it then? She couldn't remember.

And you've been sick for months. The traitor part of her mind whispered, Are we blaming it all on the ship, and the food, and homesickness? That last one doesn't even make people sneeze, and you know it!

Don't be stupid, she snapped at herself. The traitor mind's voice became slightly smug. It started to sound worryingly like her mother's voice had when she was telling her off.

Seems like I can't be more stupid than you've already been.

Shut up, shut up, shut up! She repeated, panic starting to scald her stomach like hot water. The smug voice was silent, but she imagined it laughing at her from its distance. She needed to talk to someone. Anything would be better than this loud silence. The gossiping women were long gone, split into their foraging groups for the day, and the cave was nearly empty. Automatically, she headed for the lake. The closer she got to the water, the more her conversations with Ghada came back to haunt her. By the time she was metres away, she was nearly frantic.

"Ghada!" She yelled in panic, not caring that people might hear her. The water was an eerie glowing blue in the morning light, but no answering ripples danced over its surface. She tried again, shouting with her mind this time as well. "Ghada, I need to talk to you!"

Surely. Ghada's wild voice was cold. Why else would you scream for me, like some animal?

I'm sorry, Daine replied rapidly. She let the hysterical confusion run through her wild voice, speaking better with that than with words. I have to talk to you. There's no-one else I can talk to. It's important!

Speak, then. The creature still didn't appear above the surface, but her voice was calming. Daine forced herself to breathe slowly, to sit down and think carefully. When she spoke, each word was unnaturally heavy.

What, exactly, did you mean, she realised her hands were shaking and clenched them into fists, What did you mean when you said there were two of me?

You asked that before. It is not more important now.

I didn't understand your answer, I'm sorry. Daine rested the flat of her palm against the icy water, needing the contact even if Ghada refused to grant it. You didn't mean two names, or two faces, or that there are two different gifts under my skin, did you?

There was movement under the water, the graceful curve of silken fins, and the glint of two bright eyes looking up. No. There are two of you. Not two names, not two magics. Two Arra-Daines.

Only one of me is called Arra-Daine, Ghada. The girl rested her wet hand on her stomach, feeling the icy cold seeping through the fabric, melting some of the burning fear away. The part of her life that was still Daine seemed to always live in the moment, and not plan ahead. The idea of thinking of the future made her feel dizzy, but the moment seemed calm and patient. It waited for her to speak, just as Ghada did. She knew that admitting it, that speaking of it, would bring it solidly into Arra's world of plotting and planning and secrets. But for the moment, just for a few minutes, she cherished the secret as her own. When Ghada called to her again, she closed her eyes, almost afraid to say the words out loud. When they were finally spoken, they fell softly in her ears, like a lullaby. The other one is called a baby.

Ghada's eyes appeared above the surface, narrowing into two slits. You said that... she started, and suddenly stopped, her head tilted to one side. Even Daine could hear this sound- thin, broken screams that echoed through the cavern. The hiss of drawn steel, the shouts of soldiers. After the weeks of forced silence the noise seemed unnatural. She turned to ask Ghada if she could hear what was going on, and gasped. The creature's face was warped with fury, like it had been when she'd tried to drown her. Her eyes were no longer slits but wide orbs, gleaming a baleful yellow in the half light. She opened her mouth, teeth gleaming like the swords high above, and screamed.

The noise was cutting, piercing. It rose through the cave with the other noises, adding to the cacophony. The other noises didn't halt for a moment, but in the lower cave people began running towards the exits, hands clapped over their ears.

Ghada, what's wrong? Daine asked, knowing her normal voice wouldn't be heard. Are you alright? What's happening? Ghada...

The creature ignored her, still screaming to the sky. The glowing water around her started to bubble until it looked like the whole lake was boiling. As one, hordes of other merfolk burst through the surface and screamed with her, their elegant faces distorted. The sound was almost visible, it was so loud. Daine pressed her hands over her ears and resisted the urge to run away.

STOP IT! She screamed at them with all the power she could muster. Some of the smaller creatures hesitated for a split second, and then started screaming again. Ghada looked down, her face still possessed by fury, and with the same swift motion as before reached out and dragged the girl into the lake.

The icy water struck her with the screams of thousands. The sound was even louder here than it had been on the surface. It hit Daine's ears with a stabbing pain, and echoed behind her eyes. Half-stunned, she watched the water getting darker around her. She wondered if it was because she was being dragged deeper, or if this was what death felt like.

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END OF PART 1

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	13. The Living Tomb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Start of Part II

Daine coughed and woke up, spitting out the last of the metallic tasting water. The sharpness of it made her throat ache as she drew in breath after frozen breath. Death was brighter than she thought it would be, and it was certainly colder. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she was dead at all. She wrapped her arms around her clammy clothes and stared around her at the glittering walls, blinking to make her eyes focus as they got used to the brightness.

If her teeth weren’t so busy chattering she would have gasped at the eventual sight, but the golden walls faded into insignificance next to the biting cold. She stood up and staggered, feeling horribly dizzy for a moment. It felt like she’d been hit on the head, but she couldn’t remember that. All she could remember were the dark screaming depths, and now this place. 

There were chests lining each wall, each topped with satin cushions which fell to dust when she touched them. The first few chests were locked, heavy golden seals keeping them closed. The second few held metal- silver goblets, bronze plates, opulent in splendour- but still just useless metal. When she finally found a chest that held cloth she nearly wept. She half expected the furs to fall apart like the cushions, but the chest seemed to have protected them from whatever rot was in this place. 

She stripped off her wet clothes and wrapped herself in several of the cloaks, turning herself into a human cocoon. Slowly warming up, she began to look around the place properly. 

There were no windows and, as far as she could see, no doors. The fine white sand that covered the floor was damp where she’d been lying, but there were no other clues as to how she’d gotten there. A round glass orb bled soft golden light into the room like a tiny sun. It sat on a plinth in the middle of a hexagonal bowl of mirrors, the light steady and strong. 

Daine realised it was a mage-light, but not a cast spell- a designed spell, made with care and permanently imbued with some of the artisan’s magic. Someone had given part of their life and their power to make it, something that was unthinkable to most mages. She shivered and looked away. 

The plinth with the bowl sat in the centre of the room, which was shaped like a wide corridor. The mirrors and the golden walls made the light bright, almost painful, and lit up the chests that were neatly arranged in the room. At the far end there were pieces of furniture, shadowing each other and the walls- chairs, tables, beds, shelves, all expertly carved and gilded with gold leaf. Their cloth covers had long since turned to dust, but the varnished wood still looked strong. It was a display of wealth that a king would pale to see. 

Daine stood up, clutching the thickest fur around her shoulders, and walked towards the furniture. Her head still spun, and she wondered if there were people in this darkened end of the hall. Perhaps there was a door behind one of the chests of drawers, or a note from whoever had brought her here. She climbed through the first wall of furniture and froze, staring into the homely room that had been set up behind the barricade. 

Three faces grinned at her as she walked towards them, their teeth gleaming pale in the light. The girl gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, frantically making a sign against evil as she backed away from them. The three lounged in their chairs, heads tilted blindly towards the light, bedecked with silks and jewels and furs. The coronet that graced one’s head hung rakishly over their forehead, the hair that once held it having long since rotted away. Another one seemed to stare at her from shadowed eye sockets, the white bone within catching the light in a horrible semblance of life. 

Daine ran back to the far end of the tunnel, near the light, and buried herself under the furs. She didn’t let a single toe stick out from the sheltering cloth. Any child knows that this is the only way to ward off a nightmare. 

This was a tomb. She was trapped in a tomb, wearing dead men’s clothes and breathing dead men’s air. Her aching head rebelled at the thought and the room started spinning again. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, and dead men reached for her in her dreams. 

The brightness of the light didn’t die away, and it hurt her eyes. She threw a hand up clumsily to shield her face from the sun, from the star, from the fire, from the candle. Cold, thin fingers took hold of her wrist in a vice-like grip and she shrieked. 

In the darkness behind her eyes the skeletons grinned at her, their eyes filled with fire and their hands made from ice. As they held her skin she faded and froze, becoming ice, bone, rock, and crumbling away into dust like their precious silks. And when the cold touch was gone she was alone, and that was even worse- left alone, behind walls of wealth, to die as Arra in a tomb marked with other people’s names. 

She reached out in her delirium, crying, pleading for someone to find her, but when other hands touched her own they were always cold and dead. Strong, safe arms picked her up and carried her, and she called them by all the names she knew- Numair, Onua, Mari, Mama, Da... but these arms didn’t answer to those names, and when they let her go she fell for an eternity. Drifting in dark water and soft air currents and buried under rock and ice, she let the darkness swallow her up. 

She opened her eyes, and let the world right itself. She was lying in the furs on one of the wooden beds, one carved with images of peacocks with tails of amethyst. The strongest memory made her stiffen, and she looked around frantically- but the chairs where the dead had been enthroned were empty.

A tall woman was standing with her back to the bed, engaged in something on one of the tables. In the room of dust and ancient perfume, the woman’s dress gleamed like a true jewel as it fell from her shoulders in folds of green and blue. A headdress of the same fabric fell from her forehead, shimmering lightly. It was only when she turned around that Daine recognised the woman, and her eyes widened. 

It was Ghada. Standing on two feet, her fins falling about her like the most graceful gown, the creature looked more like a goddess than an immortal. Her large size seemed like less on land, but she still had a massive bearing, and she walked gracefully to sit on the bed beside the girl. 

“Why is it,” The creature asked, “That cold water made you too hot, little bat?” She handed Daine a goblet of water which the girl drank greedily, parched. “It is also strange that the same cold water makes you sick and makes you well.” 

“You brought me here?” Daine rasped, handing the cup back weakly. Ghada smiled and nodded, obviously taking the comment as thanks. “Where is here?” 

“It is a safe place.” Ghada assured her, her hissing voice soothing in the flat silence. 

“It’s a place of death.” Daine whispered. The immortal’s face took on the amused expression she had when she was patiently explaining something.

“No, it is a place of life.” She smiled and gestured around her. “The mortals sleep with their lives around them, and here their lives remain. They have loved things, hated things, good things and bad. They are remembered by them.”

“By who?” Daine winced as her voice cracked in her throat. “Everything here is turning into dust!”

“You will remember.” She replied placidly, standing up. “You will eat.” 

“Ghada, wait!” The words were harsh and too loud, and the creature spun around to glare at the girl who had managed to raise herself on one elbow. Her face was stricken with sudden fear. “Is there... is there still two of me?” 

“Why wouldn’t there be?” Ghada threw up her hands in a gesture of bewildered frustration and turned away again. Daine fell back into the furs, one hand pressed against her stomach protectively, as if a hand could hold back a fever. She ate the strange plants that she was brought and closed her eyes, already falling asleep. 

The next few days became a blur of sleep and waking, of strange conversations and awkward, misunderstood silences. Sometimes when she woke up Ghada was gone, but she never saw how she left. After the first few days, when she was well enough to sit up and walk around, she realised that the creature was quite happy to leave her trapped here like some kind of pet. The thought made it hard to breathe, and the walls seemed closer after that. 

The skeletons no longer upset her- Ghada had stacked them neatly in a corner like a pile of macabre dolls, not out of any respect, but because they had been in her way. They were just a part of this place, like the rotting furniture. 

It occurred to her that they might be the last few people that Ghada had kept like this, still trapped even in death, but she dismissed the thought. Thinking like that wouldn’t help her get out. 

“Why did you bring me here?” She asked carefully, the next time she woke up to see Ghada’s pale eyes staring at her. The creature repeated the answer from the first day- that it was a safe place. Daine rubbed her eyes, frustrated, and asked what she was safe from. 

“War has started.” Ghada’s face took on some of its anger, but quickly replaced it with a benevolent smile. “But you are safe from it.”

“War? They started fighting?” Daine stared at her, appalled. “I can’t stay here!”

“You can, this place is safe.” Ghada mistook her anguish for fear. Daine reached out desperately and took one of the creature’s hands. 

“You don’t understand! I don’t want to be safe!” She gestured around her at the gold when Ghada withdrew her hand with a hiss. “The only reason I came here is to help my friends, and I can’t do anything when I’m caged like this!” 

“What is a friend?” Ghada demanded. Daine blinked, trying to think of how to make her understand. 

“A friend is... it’s someone who you care for, and who cares for you. Someone you can talk to and laugh with.” She noticed that the immortal was nodding slowly, and brightened up. “Please, let me go?”

“I am a friend. You will stay here. I will care for you and talk to you.” Ghada said with finality. The girl groaned and rested her head in her hands. 

“If it makes you happier,” Ghada said flatly, “Your friends are not fighting in the war. I am not fighting.”

“But there are other people who are!” Daine’s voice was muffled. 

“The children do not have friends. They do not care for anyone.” The anger was back in Ghada’s eyes when Daine looked up, confused. She had never heard the word children on Ghada’s lips, but the creature didn’t even know what a baby was. She couldn’t possibly mean it the same way that a human would. So what did she mean? Was it her way of thinking of the short-lived mortals? 

“What children?”

Ghada made a gesture with her hand, the long fingers curving like sharp claws as they disturbed the dust from the air. “The ones we fight. The ones who scream at night. They were woken up, and now they scream in the daylight.” 

“Then, the... the bandits aren’t fighting? The humans? But they were screaming, too.”

Ghada turned away, her voice harsh. “Like I said, the children do not care for anyone.”


	14. Fire

The healer paused as she started climbing down the mountain to give Keith a dark glare. She'd tried reasoning with the man. She'd tried telling him that his friend had only just been healed, and he shouldn't be running around looking at rocks in the hot sun. It hadn't worked. The man had been quite adamant, and it hadn't taken him long to convince Numair to go with him. She could only roll her eyes and glare, and hope for a chance to say "I told you so." Not that she'd ever admit to that, of course. But they would be able to read it in her expression of concern when they staggered back home with heatstroke. She didn't look back a second time.

"What a battleaxe." Keith muttered after her. "Do they teach all healers how to look disapproving?"

"I think it comes with the Gift." Numair replied idly, rubbing at his leg where it still tingled with the strange pins of healing magic. When it faded, his voice became brisk. "So, they didn't believe you about the statues?"

Keith explained everything as they climbed the mountain, using harsh words and several hand gestures to describe certain people who don't listen to a professional opinion. Numair listened in silence, thinking rapidly. When he and the nurse had been heading out of the dead zone, there had been a sudden burst of raw power that had streamed through the buildings like fire, almost painful in its ferocity. The nurse had staggered and pressed a hand to her forehead, her eyes wide. They stared at each other for a moment, unable to move, and the energy had gradually disappeared. The woman hadn't said anything, and neither had he, both mentally linking it to the strange fluctuations of magic that ran rife in this place. But now that he knew that the temple was being disturbed, he did wonder if it was somehow linked to that. The energy was still there, still burning like slow embers, and it got stronger the higher they climbed.

When they reached the temple it was completely silent and still, but he held Keith back. "Wait," he said, "Something's not right."

"There's no-one there," Keith replied flippantly.

"Yes. And shouldn't there be?" They both squinted, trying to see into the temple from the bottom of the steps, but it was impossible. When they stepped on the first stair Numair nearly yelped. The stone was hot- not with actual fire, but with the energy that flooded the city. He cast a shield around himself rapidly and the heat faded- it was magical, then, and something that could be blocked. He glanced at Keith, who stood easily on the blistering stone waiting. He didn't seem to feel it. He cast the same shield on him just in case. They walked into the temple.

"It's empty. Completely empty." Keith said in surprise, "Why do you think they took the statues away?"

"They didn't." Numair was staring at the floor, his eyes adjusting to the light and gradually shading the black stains into deep reds. Swarms of flies had already descended to the feast, making the tiles a mockery of the red and black paint that adorned the walls. Footprints broke the pools in odd directions, as if people hadn't known which way to run. But some led outwards towards the door, blending with the red dust until they were nearly invisible. "Some people got away," he realised. "They can tell us what happened."

"There aren't any bodies." Keith sat heavily on the floor in a cloud of dust, trying not to breathe the coppery air. "Maybe they all got away?"

"Maybe," the other man lied, trying not to think about just how much blood was on the floor. "Do you think the statues did it?"

"Yes." Keith breathed in raggedly and wished he hadn't. It occurred to him that the coppery air he was breathing in could well have been scented with his own blood, if he hadn't left. "I wish I didn't think that, though. How do you kill stone?"

Numair shook his head silently and started to walk out of the cursed place. The air stank of dark, old magic, fed by blood and pain, and it frightened him. He couldn't trust the people around him, so he couldn't use his magic to fight it. He couldn't trust his Gift either. And even if he could, Keith was right. How do you kill something that's never breathed? They walked downwards towards the camp entrance in silence, noticing the red trails that laced across the dust but not mentioning them. Both knew how to read the trail of deadly pursuit.

"They ran straight back to the cave." Numair whispered eventually, appalled. "They led them back to their families."

"They could still be there!" Keith stopped abruptly, paling even further. "We should wait a while, see if anyone else is in the city. We shouldn't go alone."

"Don't be such a coward!" was the snapped retort. "They could just as easily be in the city. Besides..." He stopped suddenly, his face changing from irritation to fear. Without speaking, he grabbed the other man's arm and pulled him into one of the nearby buildings. When Keith opened his mouth to ask what was going on, the mage put a finger to his lips frantically- ssh! When he put his hand back down the ground seemed to be boiling.

With a great scream, the children poured out of the cave entrance and streamed past the house. First there was just sound, and the bitter smell of burning. Then there was colour, glowing through the window and onto the opposite wall- red and purple and brown and blue-black. Keith impulsively tried to look through the window and was pulled back down by the other man. There was no sound of footsteps, but the shadows that danced on the opposite wall looked like they were running. The scream wasn't the same as it had been in the temple. There, it had been a scream of rage and hatred. Now it laughed with the innocent sound of children playing, amplified to a piercing shriek. They seemed to run past for hours- a long eternity of fear and hardly daring to breathe. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, they were gone. The silence rang in the humans' ears, and the ground cooled under their touch.

"At least you can smash stone with a hammer," Numair's voice was harsh. "How on earth can we fight those things?"

The first sign of a fight in the camp was the curtain. It hadn't been ripped from the stone, but it was in shreds as if someone had hacked at it with claws. Normally the firelight would have shone through it cheerfully, but there was only the tiny glow of a single candle that ventured into the greater cave. Along with the light were the sounds- crying, angry arguing, whispered discussions- wonderfully living human sounds. Because of the dim light there were more shadows than people, but they could see that very few people seemed to have disappeared like the men in the temple. Several people nursed wounds that showed the same violent slashes as the curtain.

"I half expected there to be no-one left," Keith muttered. Someone looked up from near the candle, their face wrought in the darkness.

"They didn't attack us. They were playing with us." Tyro spat into the shadows. "After they followed us here they weren't even angry any more. They laughed as they danced around us, with their claws out and their teeth bloodied."

"Who made it back from the temple?" Numair asked, his voice direct. "Was it only the Gifted that they killed? It's important."

"Ye-es, I suppose it was." Tyro looked bewildered. "Not that they were anything more than hedge mages, Mithros rest 'em. How did you work that out?"

Numair nodded at the curtain, and then at the others that were in a similar state around the hall. "That's not playing, that's serious rage. And why destroy the only magicked things in this camp? They left everything else alone." Plus, nothing but magic could hurt those things, and they must know it. He thought, but didn't dare to say out loud. Tyro frowned thoughtfully, looking around at the chaos. He beckoned one of the women over.

"Tell everyone to pack up." He ordered, "We're going to have to go further down. And tell them to leave anything that's spelled, just in case."

"Won't the other group find us?" Keith's voice shook. Tyro shrugged.

"At the moment, that's the least of my worries. If we live through tomorrow then ask me again. Besides," he paused and looked towards the door, his frown deepening. "Besides, something was screaming down there, too. We might find that there is no other group anymore."


	15. I Do Not Wish to Be Alone

Daine prodded at the frozen mess and sighed. She didn't know how she could escape without clothes, and she certainly couldn't wear these. They'd frozen into a single lump where she'd dropped them on the sand, and there was no way to thaw them in the timid warmth that came from the mage light. She'd gotten used to seeing her frozen breath all the time, but she hadn't realised how cold this place really was until now. Compared to this, the dank of the cave was like summer.

Ghada brought her other clothes from the chests, smiling happily as she did so. Daine stared at them for a long time before speaking, afraid that the sound might tear the fragile silk. These were clothes a queen would wear to her coronation, not clothes to escape in. Not that she could tell that to Ghada, of course.

"I can't wear these clothes," She said hesitantly, "They... they're too thin, too cold. Is there nothing made of stronger fabric?"

"There is armour," Ghada replied, absently looking towards another chest, "But it would not fit you. You are small. I compared the sizes of your clothes with these. If you are cold you have the fur."

Daine looked again at the dresses. If she worked for the Riders for ten years she might have enough money to buy one of them. The fabric shimmered, or fell in soft folds amongst the tiny gardens of embroidered flowers and pearls. Some flaunted garish gems like they were sequins, while others showed delicate lacework or beading. They smelled faintly of musk and the ghost of fuchsia, as if the long-dead women who owned them had carefully scented each one, loving each dress. Ghada had carelessly dumped them on the table in a heap.

"Thank you," she said quietly. Ghada smiled.

She didn't touch any of the clothes until the creature was gone, and then she examined them closely. They were in an old fashioned style, some more like robes than fitted dresses, and most of them draped on the floor when she held them up against herself. The ones that didn't were plainer, made of thinner fabric, and she realised that these were under-dresses. One was made of soft wool spun so thin it was almost see-through. But at least it was warm. She chose that and the plainest dress she could find, and put them on. It felt liberating to be able to walk around without clutching a fur around her shoulders, and she stretched her arms out luxuriously at the sensation. The dress stopped at her elbows with wide flared sleeves, but the under-dress fitted closely enough to keep out the frozen air. She rooted through the chests looking for a belt to gather the skirt up with, hating the fabric that tangled around her legs. The women's belts that she found under a score of headdresses were wide and ornamental, but she found one with a practical decorative knife strapped to it and put it on. Feeling safer for it, she was about to close the chest up when something caught her eye. Hidden under all the accessories was the corner of a plain leather book. There was really nothing in this tomb that wasn't worth a fortune, and even with the expense of paper she could see that this book would never compare. It stood out like a large badger in a small kitchen. Intrigued, she picked it up.

"These are the words of Yawahawa, king of the island of Saisha." The book declared in an unkingly scrawl. Daine frowned. She wasn't sure if she should be reading someone's diary, especially when their bones were so conveniently nearby to haunt her.

On the other hand, what else was there to do? She took the book and her fur to one of the chairs and started reading, blowing on her frozen fingers when they were too numb to turn the pages.  
 _  
These are the words of Yawahawa, king of the island of Saisha. I write only truth. I commit my thoughts and mind to paper. May my honest words lead me well in the life after this, for they have truly served me badly in this one._

_We honoured the Neferii for their protection by building palaces of stone. For generations we lived near their protection, inside the mountain. The lake gave us life, but took away our magic. Slowly, the mage born began to go mad, consumed by the power that was trapped in their very skin. We sent away our women to have children, and the Gifted among them were left to grow outside of the city. The ones who survived were trained to spend their magic, to place it into objects that could return to the city so that it could never boil in their veins. It was a difficult life for them, and I feel much guilt over my forefathers' decision. But it was the only thing to do, to pay for our safety. As long as we were without magic, the Johi's power was weakened. They are creatures of pure magic, but they cannot see without the gift to guide them. In the city, without living magic around them, they were blind._

_It was during the fifteenth year of my reign that the rebellion started. There was an uprising- mainly returned mages- who refused to drink the water. They believed that I was controlling them with it, that I wanted them to be weak. I could not tell them that I myself was raised in the camps on the cliffs, they would not listen, and a king cannot admit to such things. But I swore to my goddess to be honest in this tale, so I must admit it now._

_The rebels left the city, and we believed them to have died at the hands of the Johi. Their magic bleeds into the very soil of the mountain, and they can see everything it touches. But death is not certain- I am told by survivors that they are like children, that they play, and that they might see two people and only kill one of them. My advisors tell me that they may supplement their diet of flesh for the richer meat of human terror, but I do not believe this. I say I was told these things- I only saw a Johi once, and my impression of it was quite different._

_Many months after the uprising, a single man returned to the city. He carried a strange item in one hand and a knife in the other. He had thrown the item in the lake, at the cost of three of the priest's lives, before he was apprehended. Under torture, he confessed- I should say perhaps that he boasted- that the strange item was called a "reverser": a magical device that would "reverse whatever evil we were casting with the damned water."_

_That night was the first night that the Neferii screamed. The priests tried to speak to them and could not get an answer. The next morning, all who had drunk the water found that their magic had returned overnight. The water that had protected us for hundreds of years had betrayed us, and the Johi could see us again._

_That night they massacred half the city. We beseeched the Neferii to help us, to cast whatever magic they used to guard us. They refused. The dampening spell wasn't cast, it was something that the water did naturally. Now it was reversed. Anyone who drank the water would regain the magic they'd lost by walking into the land that had absorbed the deadened water for so many centuries. As long as we didn't drink the water, we would be safe... but so many already had, including myself. I charged the Neferii to guard the pool, to stop people from drinking the water at any cost. I do not know if they will carry out this order; they are often quite contrary._

_I mentioned that I encountered a Johi. This is how it occurred:_

_We lived for a few months without sleep, hearing each night the screams of the lake and the laughter of the Johi. They were impossible to fight or even see- how do you attack something made of light, or fire, or water? For that is how they appeared to us. We tried many things, and lost many people. In the last days, our beautiful city had turned into a ghost town. Only a few survived, the others were killed or fled to the coasts. It was my son who had the final idea, the idea that saved us. He had only returned to us from the mage camps because of the uprising, and still had the strength of his magic that the rest of us had carelessly spent on trinkets. He had been taught, as had we all, about how to trap power inside physical forms. It had never occurred to us that the creatures might be trapped in the same way. In the same meeting, the priests informed us that one of the Neferii had told them why they screamed. The Johi were creatures of sound, and could be frightened or soothed by music or harshness in the same way a mortal man might fear a sword or relax in the sun. The priests had carved flutes from bone and wood, and they reported that the creatures were calmed by the noise. This was not entirely good: they were also called by it, and to stop playing meant death when hundreds of the spirits surrounded you._

_We spent that night carving statues, using our gift and all our generations of artistry to make them. The statues we carved were ugly, evil. They warned of the danger that we hoped to trap within. When they were finished we played the flutes, and the Johi appeared. Pulling them into the statues was like lifting a marble pillar- many men died from pure exhaustion, struggling with the power. They drew the life from us with ease, but they were bound to the stone at the cost of our lives. A second's hesitation meant that the spirit was free to slash with his claws, and this was also far too common. To this day I do not know how we managed it. The good spirits must have been on our side that day. When the screaming stopped, and we looked around, there were only three of us left. Myself, my son, and one of the priests._

_We took the statues into the city as quickly as possible, not wanting them anywhere near us. Their features shifted as we watched. They became more terrifying, more obscene, trying to scare us. The priest played the flute, and they shifted into the innocent faces of children, listening happily to the sound. We took them into the Neferii temple and my son cast magic on the walls, making flutes that played with the breath of the wind. He also spread the colours of death on the walls and throughout the city, hoping to warn people away. We certainly couldn't defend the city. We were tired, and hurt, and we didn't know if the statues would hold the Johi past the night. When we began to walk away they began to scream, knowing that they were trapped and alone. The sound was sickening._

_We returned to the lake and begged the Neferii to care for us, to protect us. We could hardly stand. The fire of fear and fighting was gone, and we knew we were dying. Too much of our power had been spent, and we had poured our lives away like water. They told us to swim to the island in the middle of the lake. We protested, especially the priest- the island is sacred to us, it is the birthplace of a goddess. They said, "What better place to die than sacred ground?"_

_We jumped into the water, ready to swim, and they pulled us under the surface. We woke up in the palace crypt, surrounded by our treasures... but this place is not the palace. I do not know what it is. There are no doors and no windows. We demanded to know what they had done, and they told us that they would keep us safe. Then they left us here alone. Their gate will not let us pass. It burns our hands._

_My son sickens, and the priest has already died of the rot that comes from deep wounds. I pray for my own death to come soon. I do not wish to be alone._

Daine's hands shook as she closed the book. These Johi were obviously the children that Ghada had talked about, and exactly the same thing was happening again. The Neferii had guarded the lake vigilantly, but the statues had awakened. The bandits had tried to fight them with swords- she remembered the cold sound of steel striking rock- but they would fail. She had to get out, to warn them!

She re-read the last few sentences again, trying to avoid looking at the last sentence. "The gate burns our hands..." she murmured, rubbing between her eyes as she tried to think. There was no gate in the cave that she could see. She carefully tucked the book into her belt and ran rapidly along the walls, looking for a crack in the design that might betray a hidden passage. There was none. There were no marks that could be switches, or shadows that could hide handles. There was nothing. She sat back down in the chair with a huff and glared at the room, willing it to surrender its secrets. It did not oblige.

"Fine, then there's no gate." She snapped at it. "I know there's no gate. I've been looking and looking!"

The room didn't answer. She imagined it looking smug and kicked at the wall, irritated. In an ideal world this would have opened a door somewhere. It didn't. Daine was aware that her hands were icy again and stood up to warm them against the mage light. It was the only warm thing in the room. It flickered slightly as her hands got closer to it, and her eyes widened. Impulsively, she stretched out both hands and placed her palms flat on the light.

The room seemed to dissolve around her, melting into water that rushed away into the chasm beneath her feet. The floor was gone; her bare feet stood on black air and nothingness. The world poured away. She looked up and wished she hadn't. Like a waterfall, another room was falling towards her in great torrents of stone and golden light. And then, just as suddenly as it started, the water vanished. She took her hands from the light, which glowed warmly without burning her, and looked around.

The tomb was gone. She was out. Long corridors stretched around her, hung with tatters of tapestries and rugs. Stained, expensive glass windows let in soft green light, and she headed for one with relief. To see the sky again after being buried for so long! She pulled back the drape and gasped. The window looked out into the lake. She was deep, deep under the water. If she tried to swim from here she'd be crushed by the weight of water. Her free hand unconsciously curled into a determined fist.

"Time to find some stairs," she said.


	16. The Rules of the Game

"What do you mean, she's disappeared?" Elan yelled, his eyes manic. "Didn't I tell you that you were to watch her?"

The man shifted uncomfortably. "She seemed safe enough, Elan. She can defend herself, you know. I had other things to worry about than guarding some woman."

"Guarding?" Elan blinked, "Why did you think you were doing that? I told you to watch her and tell me if she did anything odd, not guard her."

"But..." The other bandit coloured and gestured vaguely in the direction of the women's cave. "The women, they said that you and herself were... well, that you... well, we all thought that was why you brought her here with you. And, and..." he looked up directly into Elan's eyes, which had gone blank. "And, sir, there's some as feel it's better she's not around you. You've been distracted, see?"

"I see." Elan scratched at his stubble thoughtfully. "And you all think that, do you?" The bandit looked away, his hair swinging in knots over his eyes. Elan cursed mentally. In this place he couldn't read anyone, and it was like being blind. He'd been careful, so careful, to read people's body language and guess at their thoughts. But he'd known that something had slipped past him, and this was it. And it was a huge thing. The trust of his people could hang in the balance because of one interfering girl, and he'd missed it! He had no doubt that if Arra was alive she'd come back, but when she did she'd be as trapped in this story as he was. The thought made him smile privately. He turned his carefully blank stare to the guard, and then smiled with friendly openness.

"Well, I can't argue with the women," His voice was glib, and the other man grinned back with relief. It was almost an admission, but not quite... something for the gossips to gasp over in their shadowed corners, enough to keep the story alive without actually confirming it. In the meantime, there was the current unpleasantness...

The Children had spread through the camp like a plague, destroying anything that wasn't breathing and many things that were. They had heard the screams running through the cavern and foolishly thought that it wouldn't affect them- it was far away. But sound travelled strangely in the echoing stone, and the screaming hordes were upon them before they even glimpsed them. Strangely, the screams seemed to be the most physical thing about them. When they tried to fathom out the creatures' shapes, they saw only outlines of fire or smoke. And as suddenly as they were there, they were gone. It was as if the wind had blown them away.

Every night afterwards they listened for the screaming, and prepared to defend themselves. First came the screams of the creatures, then the answering call of the beings in the lake. Then, worse, were the screams from the other camp- cries of fear and pain, and finality. At the sound the bandits tightened their hands around whatever weapon they'd chosen that night. Sometimes the creatures could be hit with sharp weapons but not blunt, sometimes they could be scared away by fire. Other times they would dance merrily through the flames, smoke among ashes, and strike down the one who had wielded it with ease. And however they were struck, they were never hurt. They might retreat with a hiss or a laugh, but they would always return. Their numbers shrank, and their exploring parties rarely ventured far from the camp. The weapons they had so confidently started to stockpile lay unused in a corner, useless against this new enemy...

...was it any wonder that the people comforted themselves with stories? In the absence of any clear plan, they clung to the small tales that were still sane in their manic lives. Things that they could laugh about, cry over, whisper to each other to burn away fear. Let them talk.

As for Arra... she had disappeared at the same time these creatures had appeared. He didn't know what this meant. There were stories of her fighting immortals, but also stories of her befriending the creatures. There was even the possiblility that she'd fled back to Tortall at the sight of these creatures- she probably had her ways. He didn't think she was a coward, but the way she'd acted so far had been so different from the stories...

"When was the last time anyone saw her?" He asked the other man, carefully keeping his voice just concerned enough. The man scratched his head and shrugged.

"The women said that she was by the lake, shouting for that fish thing, when they left for their foraging. But no-one realised she was missing until today, when the new folk were supposed to arrive. Usually takes her a few days to get to the meeting point, so people don't notice if she's not around for a week or so. But we sent someone else to guide 'em, and they said they hadn't seen her. She wasn't on the trail, either."

"The lake..." Elan smiled, almost speaking to himself. "Yes, of course she'd be there."

"If you say so," The other man said doubtfully, "You think she got drowned by one of them things?"

"No," he replied sharply, and then made an apologetic gesture. "Thanks for your help, anyway."

The man nodded his head cheerfully and walked away, whistling. This was an hour where they were far away from being attacked, and people had started to make the most of it. Instead of rushing their meals before heading to the next task, all the bandits had started eating together in one cave, joking and not thinking of the night ahead. The bandit was keen to get back to it.

Elan didn't go. He decided that he would start watching the lake.

888

Finding the stairs wasn't as simple as Daine had hoped. At least there are stairs, she thought, climbing the sixth flight. It's just that there are too many of them!

The furthest any stair seemed to climb was two floors, and they never went in a straight line. Even the plain servant's stairs curved gently as they rose, leading backwards or into the stone depths of the palace. There were no windows outside of the main corridors, and those were bathed in the dark blue-green movement of water. The light made it difficult to breathe; every fragment of her body screamed that she should be drowning under so much water. In the dark inner rooms she could breathe more easily, but she couldn't shake off the feeling of being buried alive. In a choice between the darkness of the crypt and the smothering blue of the lake, she tried to keep in the hallway as much as possible. Sometimes the stairs led to a dead end, or a single locked door. Sometimes they stopped at a landing and then began to descend. The place was like a maze.

The people who built this place must have been insane, she decided, turning back from her fifth dead end impatiently. She half expected to see Ghada at every turn, her long face disappointed or hurt or furious or confused. She almost expected to see her staring balefully through the window. But the hallways seemed to be untouched. Her bare feet made prints in the dust, gleaming brown wood shining through centuries of abandon.

It took her hours to climb through the palace- long, boring hours marked only by the changing light. Every flight of stairs was greeted by a muttered curse, every locked door by a scowl. When she could see the dancing surface of the water barely a foot above the windows she laughed out loud. It seemed to take an age to find the right stair to get out, but when she found it there were only seven steps, each one bathed in the cool fresh air of the cave. She hadn't realised how thin and stuffy the air was in the palace until she opened the last trapdoor, and then she breathed in deeply. It was like drinking cold water with a parched throat. For a few minutes, Daine rested on the stairs and just breathed in freedom. When the feeling of being trapped was finally gone, she looked through the trapdoor to see where it led.

A skeletal face was watching her solemnly as she climbed through the gap. The girl yelped, thinking it was Ghada, but the slightly resentful expression was not hers. This face was stronger and more angular- a male.

"So you're the little mortal my daughter's been hiding away," he said. The only part of him that moved was his lips. Daine stood upright and stared back, reflecting his icy stillness. The trapdoor opened onto the island in the middle of the lake. Remnants of stone and statue were strewn among the moss that made a slippery carpet underfoot. Some of the stone formed pillars, once carved and now shapeless, that ringed a large stone table. It was on this that the creature was sitting, dwarfing it with his massive size. Daine wondered if they could change their size at will- Ghada hadn't looked this tall in the palace.

She broke her gaze and looked at the lake, frowning. She supposed she could fly, but she didn't think any of her bird forms would be able to carry the book. It was so fragile- pages crumbled at each touch- and if it fell into the lake then she would have no proof about the Johi. She couldn't swim, either, or it would get wet. Plus, she didn't think Ghada would let her cross the lake. She would really drown her this time.

"I'm Daine," She said quietly, meeting the immortal's eyes. "Ghada calls me Arra-Daine."

He didn't give his name in return, just carried on staring at her. His eyes were greener than Ghada's, catching the silvery cave light in an eerie way. "I know your name. I hear all your words."

"Then you know that I didn't mean to be brought here!" She started rapidly, grasping at the ray of hope. He moved for the first time, cutting off her words with a curt shake of his head.

"Meanings are not important. What is, is. We do not care why mortals touch the lake, only that they do. Or do not."

"So... you care that I am here, but not why?" She said slowly, and then smiled. "I don't believe you."

He moved so quickly she didn't have time to react. In three rapid strides he had left the alter and was standing over her, over three metres of looming threat. "Little mortal, you do not question us!"

Daine started talking rapidly, hoping to Mithros that she was right and the book wasn't some kind of fairy tale. "You let the king live. You protected him. Why?"

He blinked, and she could hear the slick noise as his gills flared open and shut. "The king fought the Johi. He was worthy."

"So you cared how he was hurt? If he was hurt by... by jumping onto sharp rocks, would you have protected him?"

"He fought the Johi." This time the confusion was clear in the creature's voice. Daine remembered what Ghada had said, and thought rapidly. The female was curious about the humans, but she didn't understand them. To her, their choices were small and pale beside the Johi. The savage spirits were the only thing they fought, and everything they did was somehow linked to them. The magic in the water shielded people. The screaming scared the Johi. Their memories and buried palaces had the information needed for mortals to fight them. But there was no logic to the way they used their weapons. They fought the humans because they didn't want them near the water, but the only way they could defeat the children was to work with them. She saw the faint glimmer in the male's eye, and realised that, in a way, he understood this. He was waiting for her to speak.

"I want to fight the Johi." Daine's voice was quietly determined. "I'm trying to get back to the other humans. They want to fight too, but they don't know how. I can teach them to fight, but not if I'm trapped here. And we will destroy them."

"You will die, mortal." Ghada's father sounded suddenly bored. Daine shrugged.

"I will die here, too. Like you said, I'm mortal. But I'd rather die fighting."

He looked down and nodded, looking slightly impressed. He took a step back, head tilted at the water, as if he was listening to something. Now that Daine could see him properly she noticed that his scaled skin was covered in fresh cuts, as if he'd been slashed at by claws. Some oozed a rather nasty translucent blue.

"I can heal you," She said impulsively. He looked back at her, eyes narrowed.

"There are three lights under your skin. Which would you use, Arra-Daine?" He turned back to the water, his voice less harsh. "I can heal myself, child. Look to your own kind."

Child? Daine thought, wondering why he'd use that word. And he'd said he was Ghada's father? That seemed strange, too... Ghada had told her that the Neferii didn't recognise their children like that. Before she could ask, he nodded and turned back to her.

"Ghada is angry, but I will take you across the lake. She will not forgive you. But you will die on mortal soil, as you asked."

"Will she forgive you?"

The creature laughed and did not answer. Without speaking another word, he lifted the girl up and walked into the water, holding her slight weight like she was made of glass. Daine knew the water was deeper than the sea, but the Neferii moved like he was walking on the bottom of a shallow lake. When she looked down, she saw that the water glowed slightly silver around his drifting fins. With a sudden shock she realised what was bothering her about this creature. The strange glint she'd noticed in his eye wasn't understanding at all, it was something else. She waited until he'd gently set her down on the shore before she asked him, was he a god?

His expression was arch when he answered her question with one of his own. "Have you ever played chess?"

"No." Daine replied flatly, folding her arms stubbornly. The creature mimicked her gesture mockingly, but his voice was light and held a hint of laughter.

"No, you don't play many games at all, do you? Except for here. In this place, you will. This whole island..." he gestured around him with a sweep of his hand. "...is a game. We have our two sides, both locked in a stalemate. They both try to play, but they don't know the rules. We have you petty mortal pawns, trapped in the middle. You're joining a game that's been played for centuries, and yet you think you can end it? I believe I'd like to see that."

"But you know the rules." The girl persisted. The creature smiled widely, sharp teeth glittering in the light, and suddenly his face changed. It shifted from the skeletal appearance of the Neferii, to the dead, carved eyes of a statue, and abruptly to the unnerving human appearance that the gods favoured, the face of a man, but one whose eyes you could never meet and whose features were twisted in a sardonic grin.

"The rules? When the players keep changing their faces?" He leaned closer, a horrible combination of human and deadly immortal. Daine forced herself to stand still and not flinch away, but it was difficult. He kept speaking, his voice a gleeful hiss. "There are two pieces that look like pawns, but are really knights. Sometimes their disguises slip, and the next time that it happens their own side might mistake them for enemies. They think they're playing a different game from everyone else, but they don't know that if they lose this game then their own will be destroyed. It's an amusing game to watch. If all humans acted in such a ridiculous manner then I would have nothing to do."

"Those aren't rules." Daine pointed out, refusing to react. The god leaned back, raising an eyebrow.

"Then you really think you can play this game?"

"I think I can win," she retorted. The god laughed outright at that, his face slowly shifting back into the silvery blue mask of the immortal.

"You've done well up to this point, I'll admit. Though whether it was through pure luck or actual work remains to be seen. Which game do you think you can win, child? The game where you destroy the enemy? The game where you stay alive? The game where you save as many people as possible? I won't have you running around messing with the real players without a purpose."

"It's not a game, it's people's lives." She said quietly. "You say it's been going on for centuries? That's what's wrong with it. You're cruel to make the immortals fight like this. If I need a purpose, then it'll be to stop this stupid game once and for all."

The god smirked. "Truly impossible." His smile froze when she shrugged and turned to walk away. It was a massive risk, but she knew he wouldn't even have bothered helping her unless he wanted her to do something for him. Sure enough, she'd only gone a few steps before he stopped her.

"I will make a bet with you. You will obey two rules, and in return I will grant you two requests. One will be granted now, in good faith, and one if you win. Which you won't." He dropped back into the water and swam around lazily. Daine stood quietly, waiting for him to tell her the rules, and realised that he wouldn't unless she accepted. Even with her bravado she still hesitated to accept a bet with this god. She knew enough about gods to realise that he was playing this game too, and would do whatever it took to win. And she didn't know which side he would be working for. Or if he was going to help both- looking at his face, she guessed which god he was, and the thought of making a deal with him made her hesitate.

"What happens if I break the rules?" She asked instead. The god smiled peacefully, the image distorted under the moving water.

"These aren't the kind of rules which break. Once you agree to them, you can bend them and dance around them all you please. But you won't break them."

"I accept." She said abruptly, almost interrupting him. His smile widened, and he continued circling around in the water. Without speaking out loud, he told her the two rules. The first one was what she'd expected it to be. She wasn't allowed to let the other gods know what was going on, even her parents. The god would stop any prayers, and block the eyes of the gods when they looked at this land. He explained that it wasn't really anyone's patron land, since none of the gods wanted a place where the immortals were worshipped, but since he was here... well, what a lovely playing field it made.

The second rule hit her like an arrow, and she gasped and covered her face with her hands at the thought.

How will that help your stupid game? She demanded silently, knowing that she wouldn't be able to speak out loud. The trickster's voice echoed in her mind.

Numair loves you enough to forgive you. But you're playing this game, not him, and if you could just join the other team it would be far too easy. Who knows, this might only be a small complication. Although you mortals always manage to complicate things. You set such store by these rituals.

I can't hurt him like that. He won't understand.

Explain it to him, then. The god sounded suddenly bored. I won't tell you how to follow these rules, just that you must.

Daine took her hands away from her eyes, seeing that they were shaking, and bunched them into fists at her sides. I can't break the rule now, but I can bend it, right? And he's right, it is just a meaningless ritual.

"In return," she said, her voice hardly shaking at all, "You're giving me two requests, right?"

"One for now, one for a day that won't arrive." He replied in a mocking sing-song. "What will it be?"

"When it's over, I want to go home. And I want anyone who wants to come back to...to sanity... to be able to."

"Take the survivors home. Check." He grinned, "And what do you want today?"

She placed a hand on her stomach, feeling the slight curve under her palm that hadn't been there the last time she stood on this shore. "I want you to keep my baby safe, and with me, until we can go home."

He breathed in with a hiss. "Clever... but I can't grant that. That would mean that I'd have to protect you, and help you win. I can see a trick as clearly as you can. Even if you didn't mean it as a trick," He added gently, noticing her surprised expression. "Even I have to keep my word sometimes. But I'll make sure your child is safe, and lives to see Tortall, even if I can't guarantee that you'll be with her. Will that be sufficient? You will have five months protection. It will take you more than that to win this game, so it will not affect the result."

Daine nodded, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Her. Of course the gods knew your face before you were born, but it was rare for them to admit anything about the unborn. Knowing that she was going to have a daughter made it suddenly feel more real, more imminent. The trickster god grinned at her expression, sharp silver teeth glinting, and bowed to her.

"You keep your word, child, and you won't see me again," he said, and disappeared in a shower of sleet.


	17. Water

Elan was waiting at the shore, his arms folded over his chest and his hat over his eyes as though he had fallen asleep leaning against the stone pillar. When he saw her, his arms opened wide and a grin spread across his face.

"Arra!" He called brightly, "Have you heard the latest gossip? Other than your vanishing for two weeks, I mean?"

"Stop it." She snapped. "This isn't the time to mess about. I need your help."

He stepped forward, and his faced changed as he took in what she was wearing. "It doesn't look like it. Looks like you've helped yourself to a queen's treasure." He stopped and, for the first time, hesitated. The look on her face was totally unlike anything he'd seen before. The homesick, vulnerable childlike expression was gone, and in its place were the eyes of someone deadly.

"Then I'll put it another way. You like making deals, Elan. This is the deal you will make with me: You will help me, and in return I will tell you and your clan how to survive." She stepped closer, grey eyes reflecting the cold light from the ceiling. Elan took a step back without realising it, and she smiled. The threat was suddenly gone, but the words held the same intensity. "You need my help. I can tell you how to fight off the... the children. You won't live for more than a month without it."

"And how do I help you?" He replied in the steady voice of the born barterer. The girl's eyes flicked upwards, towards the other camp.

"They need to know, too. We have to make a treaty. We have a common enemy, and neither of the groups could possibly fight it on their own. But together, we might have a chance."

"You can't be serious!" Elan's calm facade evaporated. "What do you think we've been doing here all this time? We've not come this far to reach some kind of weak compromise!"

Daine shrugged and walked away. "Whatever you say. I'll speak to everyone, or I won't speak to anyone."

The man ran after her and caught her arm, stopping her. She glared at him and shook her arm to make him let go, but his grip was like iron. "You'd really risk the lives of all those people?"

"I'm not risking anything. It's your decision." Daine felt his fingers digging into her skin and something inside her snapped. Impulsively she made her arm grow, shifting it into a bear's formidable muscle. He gritted his teeth and finally let go, shaking out his aching hand muscles. The girl snapped at him, "Next time you do that, I'll break your arm."

"Fine. Fine! You win. We have a deal." Elan laughed suddenly. "But you really have no idea what you're asking for, do you? A treaty won't be that easy. We'd have to convince them that we're worth working with, and that we need to work together. I can't even convince people in my own clan to work together. The camp runs on gossip and intrigue. I'm not even sure that they'd listen to me, any more. How do you still have your magic?"

"I won't tell you. You don't deserve to have the gift. You're the worst kind of thief."

"Coming from a spy, that's a bit..."

"You spy on people's thoughts!" She yelled, "I don't do that! I wouldn't! I do what I'm told to do, for my country. You do it for power and money and, and... and it's sick!"

Elan's laughter was genuine this time. "What money? And what power? I command less than two hundred people who live in a cave in the middle of a haunted island. I'm hardly counting my coppers here. I don't have a country or people to tell me what to do, so who do I fight for?"

"It's still sick." Daine said mutinously. He stared at her, and then nodded once.

"You're right, it is. But if it was a choice between using it or letting a murderer live with my family unwatched, then..."

"I'm not a murderer."

The man blinked and smiled apologetically, making a calming motion with his hands. "It was just an example, Arra. I'm not a bad man. I just have bad ways of doing good things. If you were forewarned about some things that happened in your life, wouldn't you have chosen to do things differently?"

Daine chewed her lip, uncomfortable with this conversation. "Yes, but..."

"But nothing. We need to be friends to make this treaty thing work. If we're arguing all the time it won't work. If you can't trust me, can you at least pretend that I don't disgust you?"

He waited patiently for her to think this over, seeing none of the fear that had been written plainly on her face the last time they'd made a deal. He'd threatened her with blackmail and she'd been terrified, but the thought of facing the other bandits didn't faze her at all. He wondered what she was hiding- an automatic thought which he dismissed. She held all the cards, and she knew it... for now. When he wanted to play cards, he'd deal a new deck. Speaking of which... there was something else that was different about the girl. She'd looked half-starved before she disappeared, and the women said that she didn't eat properly. Her arms were still thin, but she'd filled out. Either there was a lot of food where she'd been, or...

"By gossip, what did you mean?" She asked slowly. "Are you talking about the women, and what they've been saying about... about..." She pointed at herself and then at him rapidly and looked annoyed when he nodded. "How can that possibly help the treaty?"

"If we claim we came here to start new lives as families, rather than a war," he said, "then they'll be more sympathetic and more inclined to help. If we meet them and say, 'Oh, hello! We came here to kill you but now we're in trouble, so shall we call it off?' then we won't get anywhere."

Daine laughed despite herself and started walking towards the caves. "They'll probably play the same trick. They won't believe us,"

"But the women will." He said seriously. "We'll all meet the leaders in a formal council, and the women will all gossip with each other while they wait. And that's where the real treaty will be decided. They're already talking about how sweet this little scandal is. If we make it public it's not a scandal, it's a fact. And if it's a fact, then they'll believe us."

"How do you make it public?" Daine half expected the answer and shook her head even before he could answer. The god had known that this man was thinking this- he'd known- and he'd made her agree to it before Elan could even begin to speak. She had no doubt that he had a whole story planned out, but she already knew what he was going to say. She just hadn't expected that she'd have to follow this rule so soon. She'd thought she'd have time to explain to Numair, first.

Elan is going to ask you to marry him. The god had said, and you will accept.

She'd hardly even thought about the man's reasoning behind it. She knew he didn't like her at all. Listening with half an ear, it sounded like he was going to tell her a story instead.

"Do you know what we do to whores, in our group? The women find out, and they turn a blind eye, but then some of them might tell the men. The men speak to each other, and the women expect them to do something. To make a decision. If the men think the woman is worth protecting then they say nothing, but one word back to one of the women and suddenly the whole thing gets nasty. Of course, the accused woman may try to speak up, but if there's any proof at all that she's been acting against our laws then she loses her say. Sometimes they cut out her tongue. A woman who'd lie to her group over a man would be the first to betray us to the Riders."

"What are you talking about?" She said flatly. He smiled and shook his head, still smiling, still speaking.

"The women let the men make the decision, but it is they who carry out the sentence. I've seen it once, and they do it with a certain amount of glee. To have these rituals makes us less barbaric, don't you think? We have our own laws, and we follow them to the letter. Any woman who is unprotected, who has no father or brother or husband to speak for her, is in danger of being accused. It happens quite often. But it's rare for one to have evidence against her. I believe the women are quite careful about such things. As long as they're not caught, it's okay. If they're caught, then there's no mercy. Each woman is given a single rock, and the whore is stoned to death. Rather neat, don't you agree?"

"What happens to the man?" It seemed like a logical question, and she didn't expect him to laugh quite so much. Women had no value, men did. This was one of the women's laws. The men only got to pass judgement, they weren't judged. It just didn't work that way.

"Are you saying that...that the gossip might turn into that?" She asked, suddenly scared. He half nodded, half shrugged.

"Like I said, they turn a blind eye if there's no proof. But a combination of the gossip and the fact that you're pregnant? This could go badly for you."

"I'm not..." The girl started, and then choked off the word as he made a dismissive gesture.

"Please. I may not have the sight, but I'm not an idiot. I'm offering to help with your treaty, and protect you. The least you could do is tell me the truth."

"And what are you getting out of all this?" Daine retorted, hating the way that every time she spoke to this man any control seemed to slip through her fingers. He grinned and took her arm, and this time she didn't shape shift. There was no point. She had no doubt that the god was watching this with a certain amount of glee. She wished he actually was watching so she could slap the smug expression off his face.

Temper temper, his voice rang in her head. You said you wanted to play my game, didn't you?

Daine didn't answer, even in her mind. Elan was busy lying to her, again. She gave him her full attention and directed her white-hot anger towards the god instead of speaking. The echoing sound of laughter faded from her ears. Elan answered her question easily.

"I agree that we need the treaty. I want to live, too. But I don't trust anyone that I don't have some control over. If you have more to lose then you have more to protect. What other reasons will you believe? I'm manipulative. I'm evil. Perhaps I'm doing it for fun. Perhaps I want you to bring me more treasures back from the island. Perhaps I'm just curious to see what will happen. Perhaps I really care about your wellbeing. Perhaps I want to see you suffer, little spy. Believe what you want."

He's playing a game too, isn't he? Daine asked the god. The laughter returned.

He's one of my chosen, yes. But he doesn't know it. Yet. It's more fun to let people blunder around in the dark, don't you think? There was a sudden rush of silence, like she'd felt when she'd first lost her wild magic, and she realised that the god had gone.

They were walking near the cave now, close enough to hear the quiet sounds of talking and the soft folksongs the bandits sang around the fire. Elan stopped just outside the entrance and waited for her to answer, knowing that she was sorting through all his answers hoping to find the true one. It was strange; he didn't really know which one was true, himself. The whole thing felt like some unreal game, a play that they'd been acting out since the ship. Sometimes he couldn't care less, sometimes he wanted to murder the spy who'd so coolly walked into his family. Other times he looked forward to the game of wits, waiting for her to make the next move. Sometimes he did things just to see how she would react, to try and guess how her mind worked, but she was so unpredictable that he never could. When he had her backed into a corner like this, he could almost taste the copper tang of victory.

"I told the women I have a husband already, at home."

"I know. You lied." Elan made a dismissive gesture, "I mean, you're going to tell them that you lied. I'm sure you can think of a good story explaining why you would do that. It would make your sneaking out at night more... understandable."

"But it might be true. Didn't you think of that?" Daine took a deep breath and interrupted whatever sardonic answer the man would come up with. "I agree to this- sham. But that's all it is. A sham."

"Of course, my dear! You can keep your questionable honour, if that's what's bothering you. I have no use for it." The triumph was clear in his silken voice when he smiled.

They walked into the cave together, and with a beaming face Elan announced to everyone that the lovely Arra had agreed to be his wife.


	18. X

The upper cave was in turmoil. This was the fourth hiding place the bandits had found, each smaller than the last. This one only had two rooms: one where they slept and one where they waited each day to fend off the demons that screamed in the night. The military briskness of their old life was gone, and in its place there were piles of belongings slung carelessly into corners. When they moved on many of these piles would be left, along with the remains of the people who they belonged to. The bandits had learned how to run away, and they'd learned quickly. From the three hundred people who had lived there so recently, there were less than a hundred and fifty left.

The current upheaval had nothing to do with the Children, though. The lower cave bandits had sent a message of truce and Tyro's people had leapt at the chance, at the slim hope that their promise of help was real and not a trick. The message had arrived on a tiny scrap of paper, borne by a trembling teenager whose hand had shook as he'd been taken to the bandit leader. The letter was hardly diplomatic.

To the other leader

We know you're here with weapons. We have magic and facts, but no steel. We came here to make homes, not battles. We know how to kill the things but we can't without you lot. Keep the kid as hostage if you want. We'll wait by the lake in two days after the screaming time. Lead us to a meeting place and we will talk.

X

Tyro blamed his decision on lack of sleep, lack of food, lack of sunlight and lack of blood- but he didn't take it back. The women swept around the cave like a whirlwind, frantically tidying up the clutter and kicking dirt over the reddish stains on the floor. They had risen to the challenge, irked by the letter. Here to make battles, are we? Don't know how to make homes, is that what you're saying? Well, we'll see who has the better home! Already the cave was spotless. Tyro was almost surprised that they weren't polishing all the rocks to make them shine. The only untidy area was the corner of the room where they let the wounded sleep while the healers rested. There were very few left, and they couldn't heal everyone, so each day there were more wounded to deal with. The women were glaring at the blanketed forms, as if willing them to smarten up to match the rest of the cave.

The one who whistled slightly as he snored was Keith, and Tyro was guiltily grateful that the man was out of action for a few hours. He'd come to rely on the other scholar, Morgan, as a right-hand man when his other trusted friends were picked off by the creatures. Keith followed Morgan around like a parasite, always chipping in with unwanted advice and getting in the damn way. Morgan seemed able to tolerate the man, but Keith honestly made Tyro's teeth hurt. The man would stay out here with the women when they met with the other bandits in the inner cave, and even his insistent questions couldn't possibly carry that far. It was one less annoyance to worry about.

The cave had been set up with a ring of ten folded blankets- the closest they could get to chairs. The hostage said that the other leader, who he called Elan, was bringing four other men with him to the meeting. Tyro had chosen four men that he trusted from his people, and they all waited in varying expressions of unease around the hall, occasionally getting moved by the women. The other bandits lounged around the outer cave, looking curiously towards the entrance from time to time. Their hands were never far from their knives. The guiding party had already been sent out, now they were just waiting for their enemies to arrive.

Morgan didn't look worried in the slightest. If anything, his expression was intrigued. He leaned against the wall nonchalantly, looking towards the door and then looking thoughtful. Tyro walked up to him, aware that his own skin was pale and nervous.

"How can you be so calm?" He hissed. Morgan glanced at him, momentarily confused, and then back at the door.

"I find the children more frightening, and the city more mysterious." He said, "This is like... a game."

"A game?" Tyro's voice got shriller, and he unconsciously covered his mouth with his hand. The other man smiled to himself and nodded.

"The letter was written in two hands, did you notice? The person who signed it could barely hold a pen. I mean, signing your name with an X?" He sighed dramatically and made a gesture that spoke plainly about the idiocy of clichés. "The other person's writing was confident. No-one who can write like that would use the words 'you lot' without realising how inane they are. Therefore they were taking dictation. Probably from our illiterate friend."

"You're full of it." The impatient statement wasn't matched by the wan smile that crossed Tyro's face. "I can't believe I missed that."

"You have other things to worry about," Morgan's voice drifted off as he looked back towards the entrance. He left his next thought unspoken, but he admitted it to himself, It's not like Tyro would have recognised Daine's handwriting, either. It's not like he was searching the letter for hidden meanings. He wondered if it meant that she'd be one of the people coming to the meeting. Somehow he doubted it- the hostage had said five men- but it was possible. His emotions weren't listening to logic, though- he wanted to grin at the thought of seeing her again. He pushed down the feeling with some practical advice to his leader. "I suggest you give their leader some documents to read, and see who reads them to him. It'll tell you a lot about who has the most power in their group."

"Mm." Tyro wasn't listening. They could hear the echoing voices of the guide party outside the cave. It was time. The bandits walked to the entrance with exaggerated care, surrounding the newcomers and searching them for weapons before letting them into the cave. Anything they found was respectfully placed to one side near a hawkeyed guard, who nodded respectfully at each donation to the stack.

"For a peaceful lot, they sure do have a lot of weapons." Tyro muttered, standing up straight. Numair privately agreed, forcing himself not to scan the crowd for familiar grey eyes. When the party was brought forward to be introduced to Tyro, he hung back. When he looked up Daine caught his eyes and held them for a split second, her expression intense but unreadable. He forced himself to look away. The leader of the other bandits was pale, suffering from the lack of sun like all of them, with the lank dark hair of the plains people. He didn't look like a man who could read minds. He looked like a man who would willingly steal a heartbeat if it was worth a few coppers, but not a mind reader.

He took a half step back when Elan stepped towards him, hand outstretched, and then realised what he was doing and took it. He couldn't make himself smile, but that was probably better than the false grin that the other man wore.

"Hi, I'm Elan Covin." The man said, shaking his hand. When he let go, he beckoned Daine forward. She stepped out of the crowd, and Numair suddenly understood the warning look she'd given him. If he didn't know her so well it might not have seemed so obvious, but the slight rounding of her face and body hit him like a slap in the face.

"This is my wife, Arra." Elan said, slipping an arm around her shoulders familiarly. She smiled at the man, the expression brittle, and then glanced back at Numair.

"What are you called?" Daine's voice was careful, bored. Everyone was staring at the new arrivals and she knew it.

"Morgan." He coughed to cover the harshness of his voice, not trusting himself to speak.

"Morgan," she said, her voice distantly concerned, "Are you ill? Have you eaten today? You look very pale."

"I might have forgotten to eat in the excitement of the day, mistress Arra." He agreed. She glanced at Elan as if asking for permission, and then smiled at Tyro.

"Then perhaps we can delay the meeting for a while? I'm thirsty, too." She said pointedly. Tyro looked taken aback, and then nodded his agreement. As if a string had snapped, the tense atmosphere evaporated and the visiting bandits were offered food and water. The women scowled as crumbs got onto their swept floor, but their eyes drifted towards Daine with frank curiosity. They couldn't imagine why the other bandits would bring a woman with them to speak for them. Were things really that bad in their camp? They began to head towards her.

Daine took advantage of the hubbub to whisper rapidly to Numair. "Watch out for Elan, he's dangerous. Meet me after all this at the lake."

"But what about..." he started, finding his voice. She shook her head, pressed a finger to her lips, and then melted into the crowd of women.

Tyro pushed through the crowd with a small piece of bread and some water, which he gave to the other man. Numair slumped to the floor, leaned against the wall, and stared at the bread.

"You idiot," Tyro hissed, "Why didn't you remember to eat something?"

"Other things to worry about," he mumbled.

"You looked like a ghost when you saw that girl. If I didn't know better I'd have thought you'd been shot again."

Numair looked sideways at the man, tearing the bread into scraps. "Would you believe me if I said I knew her from Tortall? I just haven't seen her in... a long time. I didn't even know she was married."

"I wouldn't torture yourself about it; She might not be." The bandit didn't look up at the crowd, his voice a bland monotone. "That Elan is a lot smarter than he's making out. He might just be smart enough to make up some scheme..."

"Perhaps." Numair nearly choked on the bread when a thought occurred to him. "Oh Gods, there's something I have to talk to Keith about. I'll be right back." Without another word he dove through the crowd towards the sick beds, ignoring the curious looks the visiting bandits gave him. Tyro shook his head and stood up, meeting and greeting like an ambassador.

Keith didn't take too kindly to be woken up, and expressed his anger through a high pitched tirade against useless mages as Numair dragged him outside the cave. When they were safely out of earshot of the assembled crowd, Keith stopped complaining and sleepily asked what was going on. After all, there was no point making a speech if there was no one around to hear it, right?

"I need you to promise me something." Numair said rapidly, looking at the scholar directly. Keith blinked the last of the sleep out of his eyes and returned the stare, sending the seriousness of the request. When he nodded, Numair explained further,

"You remember meeting my wife, Arra? Well, she's here as part of the other bandit group- and she's saying that she's married to their leader."

"Why?" Keith yawned, and then looked guilty. "Sorry, this is all very exciting, I'm just not awake yet."

"Well, wake up already! You can't let on that you recognise her, or they might turn on her. Promise me you won't recognise her, or mention the last time she was here, or..."

Keith held out his hands, palms downwards. "Hsh-hsh-hsh! Of course I won't tell. I wouldn't have, anyway." He sniffed indignantly. Numair smiled glacially at the sound, hearing his friend's familiar stubbornness.

"Thank you." He looked up at the amber candlelight that lit the entrance to the cave. "We'd better get back. They'll wonder where we are."

"I wouldn't have recognised her with her clothes on, anyway." Keith grumbled under his breath as they walked back. Numair winced at this last childish snipe but didn't answer.

888

The meeting started with both sides talking about their battles with the children, from chance encounters in the city to violent fights in the depths of the cave. They described things that seemed to have worked, and things that failed. They spoke of weapons and hiding places and fires. Daine listened with half an ear, only getting really interested when Tyro spoke about the statues and how they had woken up. The three grinning skeletons from the cave seemed more pathetic now, their lives sacrificed for something these people could undo in one moment of stupidity. She didn't say as much, but the leader of the Mountain bandits looked very uncomfortable when he noticed her fierce glare. When it was her turn to speak she told them about the king and his son as if it was a fairy tale, not telling these men about her own terror in the eternal crypt. The girl then outlined all she knew about the Johi, from start to finish, her voice never above a soft lilt. She produced the book as her only proof, hoping that they wouldn't insist on reading it before they agreed to anything. It had most of the information in it, but she'd be hard pressed to find an explanation for the other things Ghada had told her that these people would believe. They listened in silence, with varying degrees of incredulity. When she was finished there was a long silence before anyone spoke.

"Where did you find the book," One of the bandits asked carefully. The others nodded. It could all be a lie, a set-up to weaken their defences... or something. Daine told them the truth- that it was from the island in the middle of the lake.

"Hang on, that's not right," One of the men from her own camp declared, looking cynical. "You can't get there. You touch the lake and those things kill you. Simple as."

"They didn't kill me. They tried to hide me away from the Johi. The island is the roof of the old palace, from when this was a living city. They locked me inside the palace, and when I was looking for a way out I found the book." Daine's voice was still measured. The man made an extravagant gesture.

"And why on earth would they do that, miss?"

"Because I'm pregnant." She said, and this time her voice was flat. All of the men who'd been meeting her eyes looked away, embarrassed that a woman would speak so openly about something that should be properly confined to the world of women. "The Neferii asked me questions. They didn't know what it was, what it meant. They were curious." She forced herself to smile calmly around the room, not meeting the one burning gaze that she knew was still locked on her face. "At least I found out why they're guarding the lake, right? And I brought back some water. If the gifted drink it they'll be able to use their magic again. The dampening spells are in the ground all around us, but this stops them from working on you. And if you can use magic then you can defend yourselves."

Beside her, Elan was having difficulty pretending that all this was old news to him. While the other men in the room could ask questions, read the book for themselves and drink the water, he had to act like he'd worked all this out weeks ago. Daine played her part well, looking at him from time to time as if to check facts or times, but when she told the others about the water and held out the flask to them he had to stop himself from grabbing at it. They would all think it was odd if he tried to drink water he'd known about weeks ago, and Daine was going out of her way to make the story as credible as possible. He made himself look as suspicious as possible, and the leader of the other bandits picked up on it- thanks be to Mithros!

"Now, I'm not sayin' that you've poisoned it," the man started, looking askance at the flask. Daine opened her mouth to reply, and Elan jumped in first. He took the flask, unscrewed the lid, and took a healthy gulp before handing it back to Tyro. Even the non-gifted drank from it, taking smaller sips as a sign of good faith. It got all the way round the circle and back to Daine, who looked at it blankly for a second before putting the lid back on.

"Of course, it might as well be poisoned," She said quietly, almost to herself. Three men jumped upright at that, looking ill, but Tyro scowled at them and they sat back down.

"Weren't you listening?" He demanded, glaring at each of them. "It means that the... the Johi things can see you now. That's all she meant."

"It's hardly an "all". Are we supposed to spend the rest of our lives playing the harp to a bunch of monsters?"

Daine ignored the man and the series of agreements that had followed his speech. It was an argument she'd been expecting, and she knew they wouldn't get anywhere with it. Like the god would have said,

"What is, is." She realised she'd said it out loud and smiled, realising how helpful the words really were. She picked up the book from the middle of the circle and flicked through its yellowing pages, the smile growing in her heart. She knew what to do, and it was a wonderful feeling! She looked up, suddenly aware of the silence in the room, and realised everyone was staring at her.

"What is, is." She told them clearly, the spark of a plan in her eyes. "Not what was. This book tells us what they were, not what they are now. You said the statues disappeared?" This was directed at Tyro, who nodded mutely. Surprisingly, she grinned at the answer and put the book down. "They're still trapped, then. The stone, the... the statues are still a part of them. Even if it's something small, we can still attack it. It must be why some of the weapons work some of the time."

"You can't kill stone." Numair leaned forward, looking intrigued. "But it's subject to the laws of the mortal realm. It breaks and erodes. Keith would know more about this than me, but..."

"But they're not stone!" Elan sounded exasperated. "They're fire, and wind, and water. We can barely see them, let alone attack them."

"They're made of energy," Daine agreed, "But it's energy trapped in stone. Maybe they just moved the statues, hid them? If we find them, we could destroy them."

"But if we break them, surely that would free them completely?" Tyro sounded like he was getting lost. Numair stared at him for a second before answering.

"Not necessarily. The book said their faces changed- and I've seen that happen. They've bonded with the stone enough to change it. When you break a spell you still get residual magic, so the same theory could be applied to these things. Damaging the stone could break down their strength, and then we could hit them with magic."

"But it's not definite." Elan said flatly, pressing a hand to his forehead. "We know that sealing them away works. Why don't we just do that again?"

"Master Tyro, how many mages do you have?" It took the man a second to answer Daine, taking away the ones who'd fallen the day before to the children's blind rage. She nodded and thought carefully before she continued. "We can't just seal them away. They'd still scream, still possess the island, and the next lot of idiots who come here will make exactly the same mistakes we did."

"You're not tellin' me we're risking our lives to save some people we don't know!" Elan sneered, forgetting his pretence and dismissing her to the other men. Before he could turn the conversation around, Daine spoke quietly through the murmurs of agreement.

"Why not? Didn't the king do the same for you? Don't you want to live here? I thought you wanted to make a home for yo... our people. What will we say to the people who are waiting with the ships- that we just have to go home?"

This time the murmurs around the table agreed with her. Many of the people who had come to the island had nowhere else to go, or prison sentences hanging over their heads if they dared to return to their old haunts. And, although none of them would admit it, the idea of having their own kingdom was the thing they'd been fighting over all this time. For them to just turn it down for fear of the children seemed like abject cowardice. Even the ones who'd agreed with Elan looked askance at the man now.

Tyro took over the meeting, seeing that the other leader was effectively silenced. "It seems quite clear what needs to happen, then. We move our groups together- the other group can come here, since they already know where it is. The ungifted ones need to start hunting for the statues, and the gifted need to find ways to destroy them... or, at least, find ways to fend them off for now." The men nodded as one, standing up and stretching their legs. Daine stood up as well, speaking more slowly as the men started walking away.

"I'm going back to the lake to try to speak to the Neferii. They seem to have their own ways to fight. Maybe they'll help us. Will someone come with me?" She shook her head as Elan opened his mouth. "No, husband. You need to organise the move between the caves- it's more important that we keep our people as safe as possible."

Elan gritted his teeth and forced himself to smile, knowing that people were listening. "Then why not take one of Tyro's men, dear? How about the one you shot the last time he was at the lake? I'm sure he'd be concerned for your safety."

"Whatever you like." She said nonchalantly, walking out of the room without looking back. Elan flushed angrily at her dismissal, noticing the looks the other men were giving him and hearing fragments of their mocking thoughts. After so long without the sight, the thoughts were a confused tangle that made his head hurt.

"I'm not one to hold a grudge, Elan." Numair said from behind him, making the man jump. "I'll guard your wife, if that's what you wish."

The see-er threw up his hands and nodded peevishly, and then stormed out. Tyro watched him go, a smile playing around his lips.

"She's the one who shot you? I thought you said that you used to be friends."

"My dear little Arra is the reason the past tense was invented." Numair's reply was almost lost in the crowd, but Tyro's laughter followed him out of the room.


	19. Why?

"I'm very angry, you know." Numair's voice was conversational, quiet, and he stared at the path ahead as he spoke. "My mind is telling me that I'm furious, and confused, and betrayed, and shocked beyond anything else. But it's all in my thoughts. Everything collided before it could reach my emotions, and I know I'm angry, but I can't feel it at all."

Daine didn't answer. The path they were climbing down was difficult, she told herself. If she had to divide her attention between it and explaining everything then she'd probably fall down the cliff. She honestly had no idea where to start. Everything she'd said in her mind when she'd planned this... whatever this was... sounded like a pathetic excuse.

"What would you have done?" She asked instead, her voice barely above a whisper. Her real voice had curled up and lodged in her throat, choking and painful. "How do you get listened to? I bet you just have to speak and someone listens. I reckon if you said the right thing at the right time, you'd be sorted, right? And you always know the right thing to say. You always have. They wouldn't threaten you with your own secrets, or threaten to stone you, or refuse to listen to you just because you're a man. But it's different for me. You saw that so-called council- all the men in one room, all the women in another, and that's how they decide how to control their lives. Do you really think that any of those people would have believed me if I hadn't spoken with Elan's voice?"

Numair was silent for a moment before he asked the question, his voice still frighteningly calm. "But why did you have to marry him?"

Daine only remembered hearing him use the same voice once before. They'd hunted down an insane mage who'd been summoning Immortals and bribing them to assassinate people he saw as his enemies. Since the only currency the creatures wanted was the fear they fed from, the mage kept a supply of human slaves trapped in his cellar. When they'd caught the man he'd boasted about his crimes- inexcusable, horrible acts, and even though they knew there was no answer, all they could ask him was: why?

So: Why? The truth? An apology? Answer with a question. Ask him why as well, and see what excuses he comes up with. Ask him why he agreed for us to come here. Why he let Jonathan talk him into it. Ask him why he found it so easy to break us apart, like we had...have... nothing more to our friendship than a few words and smiles. Ask him why he thought I'd be able to deal with these murdering bandits. Ask him...

Stop it. Remember whose fault all this is. Have you forgotten how to trust people after just a few months?

Daine blinked, having scolded herself speechless, and all her story tried to tell itself in one sentence.

"Elan's playing a game. Everyone is, but he's more aware of it..." She hesitated, knowing she was making no sense, and decided to tell him about the trickster god. After all, the pest had given her permission to speak- it wasn't like he could seal her lips without breaking one of his own rules. A streak of stubbornness rose in her mind, and she stopped walking .

She spoke slowly, telling Numair exactly what had happened in the crypt palace and how she'd escaped, and the deal she'd made with the god. He listened in silence, absentmindedly tugging his nose when he thought about something she'd said, the coldness in his eyes fading slightly, slowly being replaced by anger- at the god, at this stupid rock of an island, at Elan, at Daine... he paced the ground, listening, thinking furiously, all of his emotions crashing down like a blinding landslide. He could hear Daine speaking, hear the slight catch in her voice, and he could hear the voice in his head yelling at her, shouting over whatever reasons she must have had, if only he was thinking straight...

"I'm so sorry I couldn't tell you any of this, this is the first chance I've had..."

"No- You were talking to the... those fish things, before the last time I saw you!" He ran his hands through his hair, agitated. "You must have known you were pregnant, you said yourself that the only reason they saved you was because of that. You knew! Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know!" she tried to grab his hands, to stop him from pacing, but he shook her off. She felt herself getting angry. Why on earth was he yelling at her? "I've been trapped in a Mithros-cursed tomb for the last two weeks, trying to get out. I had better things to do than tell you!"

"And yet you found time to get married!" He retorted, rounding on her furiously. "And I'm sure you told your husband that you were pregnant!"

"He's not my husband!" She screamed, tears starting in her eyes. She dashed them away violently, her hand shaking with anger. "He doesn't even know my real name! It's not real, it's not real, it's like everything else on this bloody island. It's a damned lie! It's a lie I swore to the goddess, but it's a lie! I know that, and Elan knows that, and if you don't know that then you're an idiot!"

"And does the goddess know?" The man's voice was poisonously cold. "Jonathan was right. You don't know anything about it, do you? You might be able to lie to your father, but the goddess tends to expect people to fulfil their promises."

"Never. Never! I'd die first! Why are you even saying that?" Daine choked and covered her face with her hand. "He's not my husband. He's not. I said your name in my heart. And now I wish I hadn't!" She took her hand away and glared up at him, matching his anger with her own. "He's not my husband, and he never will be, and I'll kill him myself if the goddess comes down..."

She stopped talking with a gasp as Numair grabbed her arms and kissed her violently and possessively. This was utterly unlike the warmth that she usually felt between them, this was a raging fire of anger and need, burning her stomach and racing through her veins, pulsing in her arms where his fingers dug into her skin and in her lips where they met his. Through his fingertips she could feel that he was shaking.

"Let's go home." He said against her cheek, still holding her arms painfully tight. "We could fly now that we have our magic back, or we could build a boat. Let's leave this rotten sunless place to the ghosts. This spying is turning us both into liars and... and against each other."

Daine sighed and shut her eyes. Too late. A few days ago and I'd have agreed without even thinking about it.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered, "But I can't. I swore to the Trickster that I wouldn't."

"And he's so strict on keeping promises." Numair realised his voice was sharp and sighed, slowly letting go of the girl's arms. "I'm sorry, sweetling. This is all just so..."

"Mad." She finished for him, repeating a thought she'd had every day since the boat landed. She forced herself to smile. "You know, this could be fun. We haven't had a challenge like this since... since ages. And now we know what's going on, and what we need to do..."

"...and who's trying to kill us?" Numair returned her smile, his own no less shaky. "You're right, it's like being back in the war. And I was just feeling nostalgic."

"Speaking of people trying to kill us, I do actually have to talk to one of the Neferii." Daine reached up and rapidly kissed the man's cheek before starting to walk down the trail. "So what does 'nostalgic' mean?"

The lakeside was deserted when they reached it- far removed from the bustling thoroughfare it had been when the plains bandits had camped near it. Daine explained that she didn't want to be near Ghada's usual haunt. She hadn't dared try to talk to the creature after she'd run away, but she was almost certain that if they did meet it wouldn't be a friendly encounter. She hoped that now that she had their god's blessing, she'd be able to talk to one of the older immortals.

When they rounded an outcrop of rocks, they stopped short. A tall figure was standing forlornly beside the water- too tall to be human, too dangerous to approach, staring up at the ceiling. Numair opened his mouth to speak and stopped when Daine made a shushing noise, recognising Ghada in one of her blackest moods. She knew the creature had probably already heard them, but if she was ignoring them then it was better than deliberately drawing her attention.

She was about to signal that they should try another stretch of the lake when the screams started. As many times as they'd heard them, as much as they'd been expecting them, the sound still made them jump and put their hands against their ears.

"I hope the mages can defend themselves," Daine said over the noise, her voice getting lost. Numair frowned and took his own hands slowly away from his ears.

"It sounds different somehow. Less... happy."

Ghada's soft hiss broke through the noise. She had darted closer with her alarming speed while they were distracted by the noise, and stood in between the humans and the lake. Behind the immense creature the water looked like it was boiling, erupting with the Neferii who screamed back.

"The children can see again." Ghada spat. "They scream: the world disgusts them. The mages made the world disgusting. They are angry."

Daine looked around slowly, taking in Ghada's furious expression. "They're angry?"

"They're coming this way." Numair remarked, as if he was talking about the weather. He pointed up the cliff path, where a heat-haze was speeding rapidly downwards. Ghada fixed her translucent stare on him.

"Of course. You're the most disgusting creature here, human."

He smiled, half amused, half strained. "Thank you, I'll take that as a compliment, if you mean I'm the strongest mage in the cave." He looked up at the creature, meeting her eyes levelly. The immortal didn't blink, but stared balefully back.

"Is this one worth dying for, little bat?" She asked eventually, "If you want to live, jump in the lake. The creatures can't touch it."

"Neither can my friend." The girl replied flatly, looking up at the trail. The haze was already twice the size; half as close. Ghada blinked at that, looked at her with a sneer and stood up straight.

"I promised Tay Kiri I wouldn't hurt you. You hurt me, but I won't hurt you. It is an imbalance. But Tay Kiri made me promise. He said nothing about your...friend."

"Can we fight them off?" Numair asked seriously, ignoring the threat completely, a lazy black spark drifting across one palm. Ghada made a strange choking noise, and they realised that she was laughing.

"All children approach, Friend-creature. You will run or you will die. They can see you now."

"If my friend dies then it will hurt me. You will break your promise." Daine whispered frantically. Ghada flinched and spun to glare at her. "You felt how painful it was when I left you, right? If my friend has to leave me- if he d...dies, then it will hurt me a thousand times more than that."

Ghada looked sulky. Behind her, the screaming immortals stood frozen in the lake, their hands outstretched towards the heat haze. Silver claws glinted in the blue light. The haze of children was so close now that the heat that their fire forms generated made the rocks steam. As silently as she had appeared, as rapidly as she had reached out with deadly hands the first time Daine had met her, Ghada picked up both the humans and darted out into the lake. She didn't dive under the water but skimmed across it, keeping her charges completely dry. Without a word she dumped them onto the stone shores of the island and disappeared to join her tribe.

"This is interesting." Numair commented, "That was nice of her, but I haven't touched the water. I assume the only way off this island is to swim?"

888

They stayed on the island as the evening light died in the cavern and the lake's ethereal glow faded. The furious screaming of the children was louder, harsher than it had ever been before. The neferii did not seem to fight at all, but simply screamed back. As the children got more and more enraged, they started darting towards the water. One, a lithe creature that looked like it was made from icy mist, shrieked and charged towards the water. As soon as its foot touched the lake the nearest neferii pounced, dragging it under the water in a flash of silver claws and a shower of water. The water heaved with their struggle for a few swift seconds, and then there was silence. The neferii slowly surfaced, exhaustion written on his serpent face, dripping silver blood into the water, and screamed with the others again.

"Did he just kill that thing?" Daine was stunned. "If they can do that, why aren't they going after the others?"

"Maybe they have to be in the lake to die?" Numair sounded uncertain. "Why are the Neferii guarding it in the first place?"

"It's sacred... no, the king told them to guard it." The girl automatically corrected herself, sitting down on the cold stone to watch the fighting. Numair sat next to her, fascinated eyes fixed on the lake.

"But the lake was sacred before that happened, right?" He waved a hand idly at it. "I mean, the lake had this weird dampening on it in the first place. The spell only reversed what it was doing. So something must have set it off."

"I don't think it's that kind of puzzle." Daine yawned and rested her head on his shoulder. "Kyprioth said it was like a game of chess. I think we're just meant to pick a side."

"I'm not saying that the god of deceit and trickery is a liar, but..." Numair stopped and made a sign against curses. He was silent for a long time, watching the children scream and retreat, idly tracing patterns in the dirt. "Daine?"

"Mm," The girl sounded half asleep. It said a lot about how they'd gotten used to the Johi, that they could doze off through such crushing noise. Numair waited for her to wake up properly before he started talking again.

"There's another reason why we're here. Besides the bandits and the factions, I mean. I didn't tell you because I thought I could do it on my own, and I didn't want you to have to do anything to make the bandits suspect you of anything."

Daine laughed at that despite herself. "Well, that surely worked! What is it?"

The man looked around at the cavern, and stopped when he saw the island's altar. He pointed at it. "This island has things on it- buildings, documents, spells- that are as old as Tortall itself. This place was a thriving country while we were still swarms of little tribes fighting over rivers and fire spells. The oldest documents that we have in the catacombs of the palace mention this place... and as ancient as they are, they're still probably not as old as that book you found."

"So you want to find some more mouldy old books to take home? That'd be your idea, not Jonathan's."

Numair grinned. "Not quite. If the documents are right, there are old, incredibly powerful spells somewhere in the city. It was fine for us to ignore them when no-one could get to them, but imagine if one of the bandits got hold of them? So Jon asked me to find them and destroy them."

"Did you find them?" Daine knew with a sinking feeling what the answer was before he shook his head. There was only one place on the island where they could be, and she didn't want to bury herself there again. When she spoke, her voice was dull. "You want to go down into the palace, right?" Before he could answer, she glanced up at the dark shadows of the roof and yawned again.

"It's not quite being buried, is it? But I'd like to sleep without feeling like I'm in a tomb. We won't be able to see down there until dawn, anyway."

"Shouldn't we hurry?" Numair asked. Daine leaned against him, half asleep already.

"No. With any luck they'll think we're dead. S'one less thing to worry 'bout."

The comforting warmth of an arm wrapped around her shoulders and held her closely. "Good night, Magelet."


	20. Solving Riddles

The sun rose, and stabbing darts of light flooded the carnage of the camp. This wasn't like the playful, random destruction that they'd gotten used to. As horrible as it was, at least they had thought they could anticipate what the Children would do. Only the men who had drunk the water knew that the attack would be different, and even they weren't prepared for the pure fury that radiated from the creatures. They weren't just tearing at cloth and people any more; great chunks of stone lay on the floor where enormous claws had gouged them from the rock.

"I know I probably shouldn't say this," Keith remarked in the stunned morning silence, "But... I'm glad they were in such a hurry to get to the other camp."

"Those poor bastards." Tyro stabbed a piece of bread viciously with his dagger, and then cut it into pieces. It felt good to be able to sink a blade into something, after weeks of fighting air and mist. "At least we can fight them off a little better now."

"Defence isn't defeat, and you know it." Keith chewed at his bread, jaw aching at the staleness. Tyro glanced at him and, inexplicably, laughed.

"For a moment you sounded like a soldier!" He grinned. "Which book did you get that from, scholar?"

Keith smiled but didn't answer. Around the cave, men and women ate their breakfast in near silence, huddled close together. Some of them slept- exhausted from the night awake and afraid, or from using all their Gift to keep the monsters at bay. Only the non-gifted seemed alert, and even they had dark shadows under their eyes. Tyro didn't quite know how he'd ended up eating with the most annoying man on the island, but at least they were both awake enough to have a conversation. It was hard to tell if some of the other people in the cave were dead or alive.

"Where's Morgan?" Tyro asked suddenly, looking around. "I assumed he got back after the creatures went away."

"Back?" Keith blinked at him. "I didn't know he'd gone anywhere in the first place. Last I saw him, he was with you."

"No. He went to the lake with Arra."

Keith laughed, and rapidly masked it under a choking sound. Tyro's eyes narrowed at the sound; standing up, he beckoned for the scholar to follow him out of the cave. When they were out of earshot of the rest of the tribe, he said seriously, "Alright, you know something. Something I don't know. Tell me."

The man stared at his feet, cursing his well formed and adequately appropriate sense of humour. So much for his promise not to tell anyone. But then, Tyro had worked it out, right? So it wasn't so much telling as... filling in the gaps.

"Tell me what you already know," he said slowly. "We might just know the same things."

Tyro chewed his lip, feeling strangely guilty, as if they women gossiping in a corner. "I trust Morgan... he's a good man. But I know he's been lying to me. It's..."

"Small things." Keith filled in, agreeing. Tyro nodded.

"Yeah, exactly. But yesterday, when he saw that girl, he looked like he was going to be sick. And then he told me that they used to be friends, but it was in the past. I tell you truly, no-one's heart bleeds like that over something so long forgotten."

"So... what? You think her husband noticed, and hauled him off in some fit of jealousy?" Keith's voice was serious, and he was honestly shocked when Tyro started laughing at the idea.

"I doubt it! That man doesn't seem the jealous type. And he thinks Morgan's a coward who just recognised the woman who shot him a few months ago. That's why he let them go off together."

Keith glanced up at the ceiling of the cave, and then sat carefully on the edge of the path, feet dangling over the abyss. This was good strong rock, not like the icy chalk that formed most of the cave. It was nice to not have to worry about the ground collapsing under him.

"I don't know much about Arra." He started, "And... I don't know why they're both lying. But surely if they are, and you trust Morgan, then you'll let them alone? After all, they must have a reason for doing it."

"No." Tyro glanced at the edge, winced, and sat a little further back from it. "It just makes things more complicated. Those creatures are picking us off, a few every night, and if I can't trust the people who I have left then there's no hope of us fighting together. For all I know, that girl could turn on us and start shooting arrows again. Or Morgan could already be dead."

"He knows her well enough to go off alone with her. I'm pretty sure that if there was any chance she'd kill him, he wouldn't."

Neither of them spoke the words that they both thought: It could be the monsters. They could both be dust by now, and we're arguing about them. It was also equally likely that they'd stayed at the other camp, which was closer to the lake. But if you're going to make wild guesses about someone, the best time is when they're not there, right?

"They told me they were married." Keith said quietly. "She sneaked into the camp after Morgan was shot, and I saw her, and they said they were married. But they had to take separate boats, and ended up on opposite sides of our feeble war."

Tyro rested his chin in his hands, thinking. "Do you think that's true?"

Keith's eyes flicked to the side, and then up, as if he was reading from an invisible book. When he spoke again, it was in the measured logical tones of an academic.

"The boats story, maybe. The marriage... not if she married the other man in the meantime. And she did; the men who were with them were talking about it. You can't be married to two people. Under the eyes of the goddess, it's betraying the most sacred oath. Your blood will literally wither in your veins. But if it helps, I think they wanted it to be true. Crass sentimentality, I know, but..." Keith shrugged dramatically, and then flicked a pebble off the edge of the cliff.

"Gods, how awful." Tyro watched the pebble bounce off a few rocks on its way down, starting a miniature landslide before starting the long freefall. Abruptly he turned away and raised his arms to the ceiling, dramatically furious. "Why-didn't-that-idiot-say-something?"

"So you could... what? Stage a kidnap?" Keith stood up and dusted off his breeches. "So, there. That's all of it. Are you going to tell everyone?"

"No. But if they ever come back, you can bet on mithros' spear that I am going to make them tell me the rest of this. You know what's really confusing? Elan. He must know something, at least enough to get involved... and yet, he let them go off alone together? He doesn't know about...them. So there has to be something else, some hold he has over them." Tyro stopped, realising he was pacing, and pulled a face. "Ach, it's too early in the morning for thoughts like this."

Keith looked up at the ceiling, calculating... "Actually, it's nearly noon."

Tyro thumped his back. "My friend, midnight would be too damn early to think about this."

888

Numair shivered and resisted the urge to look up at the too-close ceiling. The green patterns of water shifted on it, disorientating even for a quick glance. "You're right. It is like being buried."

"It gets worse, believe me." Daine shut the trapdoor slowly, breathing in the last of the cold cave air. The mustiness of the place was already creeping into her mouth and nose, as smothering as it had been the last time. When she looked around her own footprints stared back at her, undisturbed in the thick dust. She pointed at them. "If you want to get to the tomb we should follow those. I think everything was stored there... every other room I saw was mostly empty." She lowered her hand slowly and rubbed her forehead absently, trying to wipe off the scent of decay.

"You don't have to go, if you don't want to." Numair said quietly. She dropped her hand guiltily.

"No- no, it's alright. I'm fine." A thought flashed into her mind. Concentrating on that and not the shifting green corridor, she walked down the stairs as she asked, "Do you think we could bury them? The king, I mean, and the others? They're all tumbled together in a corner; it doesn't seem right."

"They're already pretty well buried." The comment was in the most absentminded of voices, and predictably enough was followed by the fascinated question: "What do you think is keeping the water out?"

"I don't know, but if you're going to study it, can you wait until we're within swimming distance of the exit?" Daine grinned when Numair rapidly pulled his hand back from the window, fingers bare centimetres from the glass. "I'm not saying that you'd drown us on purpose, mind, but we'd still be dead."

"But I'd die knowing how to create an airtight seal against pressurised water, which is something few can boast of." He said seriously. Daine realised she was being teased and laughed, and the ceiling didn't seem quite so close after that. They walked on into the deepening green.

Whenever they reached another set of footprints, where she had lost her way and had to double back, Daine tried to remember if there was anything interesting along those paths. As far as she could remember, the rooms had all been stone cold and empty, as if no-one had ever lived there. There were no dining halls, or armouries, or musical instruments. It was just a labyrinth of rooms.

"It doesn't seem like a real castle, does it?" She said eventually.

Numair shook his head. "It feels like... some of the paintings I've seen of Tortall have an extra tower, or too many windows, or something that's the wrong size. It could be the real thing if you just glanced at it, but if you tried to walk up to it you wouldn't be able to find all the windows, or fit through the door."

"You mean: it feels wrong." Daine paraphrased. "And how could you walk up to a painting?"

"It was a metaphor." He said coolly. "And 'eerie' fits better. I would imagine that this is a recreation of the original palace, by someone who never got a proper look at it."

"The neferii, then." Daine finished. "They wanted to protect the king, so they made a place that would feel safe as well as being safe."

"I think, then, that it would be safe to assume that the only place of interest is the crypt. You said that they put their belongings in there with them; something as precious as the spell must be among them."

When they reached the end of the trail of footprints, there was nothing there. No door, no windows, just an empty shell of a room. The walls danced with murals; fish and water fowl swam on the walls, almost moving in the shifting green light that filtered through the door. The image was marred in places, blackened and burned as if whole figures had been erased from it. Numair felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of it- it was like one of the murals in the city, only horribly alive and violently damaged. Growing from the center of the mural like a sprouting orchid was the island, fantastically detailed down to the ships that nudged at its shores.

"I don't understand," said Daine, "This wasn't here before. It was just the start of a corridor, and this glowing mage light."

"Who cast a mage light? Ghada?" The man paused, his fingertips almost touching the mural. It didn't even look like paint. It was as if the walls had chosen their own colours, like petals greeting the sun. Daine shook her head behind him, and then realised that unless she spoke he wouldn't pay attention. So she rolled her eyes instead.

"No, it was a created thing. It had mirrors and... it was engraved."

"So an imbued light. Still working after so many years!" Numair looked around, his eyes shining. "You know, this place really is fascinating."

"It's creepy." The girl glanced at the wall, shuddered, and sat down against the doorframe.

"You know, I wouldn't want some strangers going through my ancestor's graves." The man said conversationally, nose nearly touching the mural as he studied it. "It's not that respectful. So if I thought someone was going to look, and I had a shortcut to get there with my weird fishy powers, then I'd probably hide the door."

"I'm starting to think this is another metty-for." Daine remarked, absently checking her pockets to see if she had any food. She didn't; stupid pockets! That was the other stupid thing about hanging around dead people- they didn't eat. She sighed and looked up at the mural instead.

Something about it seemed oddly familiar. She stood up and, despite the sick feeling getting closer to it gave her, walked up to it. The island... the island was perfect in every detail, down to the grittiness of the dust over the shores, down to the...

"This ship is the same ship I came here on." She murmured. "And there... that's the base camp." She reached out her hand, and...

"Don't-!"

...and she was standing on the red sand, the wind blowing it through her hair and stinging her eyes. She looked around, and the world shifted before it settled into its shape. People walked past her, their movements causing ripples in the sandy air and the soil. Their voices were flat, broadened, as if they were speaking underwater. They didn't acknowledge her, and it was only after a second that Daine realised that the sand was blowing through her hair and through her body too, as if she was nothing more than her own shadow.

...'s been weeks now, and nothing...' one of the people said to another. As one, they glanced at the distant ship, which sailed in waters which, to Daine, looked as still as stone.

...'Can't be sure they're dead, not yet...' another voice said. The first person scoffed at the idea.

...'You can wait if'n you want, but I got my family to feed, and we're sick of stinkin' fish. Everyone else feels the same way. We should leave before the winter storms come in...'

The raised voice sent streams of bubbles through the liquid air, blinding her for a second as they burst around her. She raised her arms to brush them away from her face, and...

"...you idiot! Why must you always touch things? Every single time! If anything can go wrong, there's Daine, ready to set it off..."

Daine blinked. "Hello, Numair. When did I fall over?"

"About ten seconds after the wall started glowing, but before the floor disappeared." The voice was matter-of-fact. Daine blinked a few more times, the world slowly swimming into focus, and a pair of worried eyes appeared. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She sat up and looked around. "We're in the crypt."

"We are." Numair helped her stand up, keeping an arm around her waist as if she was going to keel over again. The girl thought briefly of shaking it off, since she felt absolutely fine, but thought better of it. If anything could keep the horror of this place away, it would be that warm comfort.

The soft mage-light glowed in its nest of mirrors, and they stared at it silently. It had to be the spell- and she hadn't realised before that it was so powerful. For it to send them through walls, or grant visions, or give off light and heat, or change its shape was ridiculously powerful. To do all of them so quickly and effortlessly was terrifying.

It grew from the floor, the artificial feet in its design locked into place. The stone gathered around its base like roots.

"The spell...It's not just the light, is it?" Daine asked, already knowing the answer. Numair shook his head, chewing his lip worriedly.

"No. It's the whole castle. And I have no idea how I'm supposed to destroy it."


	21. Hungry

It was the lesser of two evils, and also the only place that they knew how to find. The other camp could be packed up and gone by now, while the upper cave was still being used as a meeting place. They climbed up to it wearily; a whole day had passed since they'd argued their way down the same path. Daine, at least, was relieved when they got to the cave and found that the other group hadn't moved in yet. Everything's simpler when Elan's not around...

"Where the hell have you been?"

...although just as polite. She smiled up at the man- the leader of the other group. He was blocking the entrance, through which a maddening smell of trail stew was taunting her.

"I'm sorry, I can't remember your name. Do you have any food, please?"

"Explanation first, food second." The man folded his arms, taking in both of the stragglers in his glare. Numair nodded a greeting as Daine folded her own arms, just as stubborn.

"No, I think you'll find it's definitely food first. I have memory lapses when I haven't eaten, and you want to hear what we have to say."

"Tyro, you remember Arra, right?" Numair tried not to laugh. "We can talk while we eat. We've found a safe haven!"

Ten minutes later, with a bowlful of stew and a chunk of bread in front of each of them, they started telling their story. Or, at least, Numair did. Daine ate ravenously. The biting hunger had nearly made her faint when they had climbed back up through the palace and drank in the sweet fresh air. She had even got as far as scanning the island for plants, but it was barren rock and mud. The plants that Ghada had given her must have grown under the water.

"Perhaps we can change the directions on the spell; make it so it can get us across the lake. Or we could shapeshift and fly across..." Numair was saying. She shook her head- to say no, and to clear it.

"I don't particularly want to have to explain why we're both naked to a crowd of staring bandits." The girl looked around at the empty lake and scowled. "Right, that does it. I'm too hungry to care anymore." She cupped her hands in front of her mouth and bellowed across the water, "Trickster! I know you're listening! I want to talk to you!"

Numair winced. "If he's listening, why did you have to shout so loudly?"

Daine shrugged. "I guess he'd be more likely to come if we lit incense and flattered his ego, but I reckon his ego's already too overgrown."

"Just for that," said a smooth voice by her ear, "I'm not giving you any food."

The girl whirled around and pulled a face. "I wouldn't have eaten anything you gave me, anyway."

As the God grinned, Numair rolled his eyes at her. "Daine, could you try not to annoy the all-powerful being?" He bowed respectfully to Kyprioth, who nodded regally and then strode away to sit on the altar, lounging on it like it was covered in cushions. He had chosen a human form this time, probably because he wasn't trying to disguise himself, but he was still unnaturally tall and walked with the elegant gait of the Neferii.

"You know, this was my patron land," The god said levelly, "The other gods thought that the people worshipped the Immortals, but it was always me in their shape. When I left, they just kept on doing it. But my poor children are not good at being worshipped, and even worse at being patrons. Without a leader, they started being scared of their own shadows." For a split second, his face took on the innocent cruelty of one of the Johi, and then it returned to its normal shape. One eyebrow rose. "What happened here is not my fault. You could show me more respect, you know."

"I'm not the one who thinks it's a game," Daine started, but the god held up a hand to stop her.

"To play games is my nature. Don't think for an instant that I don't take this seriously, child." He glanced away from her, and fixed Numair in his gaze. "And I see that you've forgiven her. A shame. That would have been quite interesting. Never mind, I'm sure Elan will think of some way to complicate things."

"Trickster," Daine started quickly, noticing Numair's hand curling into a fist, "I want to make a deal."

"You've already made one. And since you won't be able to fulfil your side of that one, I think you already owe me enough." He waved a dismissive hand, but his eyes gleamed. "Nevertheless, I might as well hear what it is."

"I want the humans on Tariro to be allowed to live here, on this island, and to cross the water to gather food and firewood without being killed."

He drew his breath in, a harsh hiss. "This is a sacred island, and you want to let humans walk here?"

"Well, we have to be here to win the game, so it's already had humans on it. And besides, there's the added element of danger, don't you think?"

"Danger?" His voice was soft, but the grin was back on his face- almost encouraging, almost poisonous. She had mentioned the game, and he was interested. Daine nodded.

"This whole island is a spell, right? You know what it is, but we don't." She looked at Numair, who nodded, his eyes fixed on the god. She took a breath and carried on talking, "It could explode, or turn to water, or kill us at a moment's notice. And the bandits- the humans- we can't trust them. Imagine if rogue magic was being used here, another civil war. That could trigger the spell, turn it nasty. And the Neferii- they can't kill us in the water if you intervene, but who knows what else they might do? We don't know, but you do. We'll trade you our ignorance for safety from the Johi."

Kyprioth paused. A thin beard grew from his chin so he could twirl it around his fingers thoughtfully. "No. Well, maybe... You can come and go from the island as you please, but I won't allow you to touch the water. Be creative about it." He said, and disappeared in a shower of water droplets, soaking them both. When their eyes cleared from the water, they were on the opposite shore of the island.

"Very funny!" Daine yelled after him, shaking water from her hair.

"Don't worry," Numair said, "I have an idea. We can get everyone to the island safely, they just won't be able to leave for a while. But at least they'd be safe."

Daine shook her head, clearing water from her ears.

"Maybe not. The island's a death trap. It's the only reason he'd agree to let us on it."

888

...Of course, they didn't tell all of this to Tyro. They just told him that they'd found a way to get everyone onto the island. He watched their faces as they spoke, neither agreeing nor arguing until they'd finished, and then he stared upwards at the ceiling, face expressionless.

"It seems to me," he said, "That there's a whole lot you two aren't telling me." He looked back at them, watching their faces carefully as he spoke. There was a stillness about lying, you could see it in the eyes. The way they could fix on yours, so steadily that they could never be honest. He sighed and steepled his fingers, wishing there was a nicer way to have this conversation.

"Look, I'm not a bad person." He started, "But I'm in charge of three hundred men and women, and when your husband rejoins us, Mistress Arra, there will be four hundred more. I can't agree to risk their lives without knowing why, and as it stands I don't even know why you are on the island in the first place! And no," he said, interrupting before either of them could speak, "I don't want to hear more stories, and I'm not going to tell anyone else what I already know. But then, Keith has already blurted out your secret to me; it's probably only a matter of time before someone else works it out."

"Keith." Numair muttered, his eyes narrowing. "I'm going to throw that idiot in the lake."

"Is that the man who..." Daine started, and then stopped abruptly, her face flushed. "Oh. That man. Does anyone actually talk to him?"

Tyro caught his breath, torn between being serious and the sudden urge to laugh. His sense of humour finally won, and he almost choked on the laughter. "Okay, you've definitely met him. Poor soul that he is, you have to admit that he's not the most reliable secret keeper."

"Right..." Daine leaned forward, "And how trustworthy are you?"

"Depends what the secret's worth," he challenged, a born bandit. Numair made a dismissing gesture, and when that failed he resorted to pushing them apart, like children. It was only when they argued that he realised that they had the same accent- the rapid, direct lilt of the mountains. Yet another reason for Daine not to trust the man, he thought with a sigh.

"Will you two stop it? Tyro, I'm sorry... the other group has a man in it who can read minds, and Da...Arra's gotten used to being cautious. But I would trust her with the lives of seven hundred people as easily as breathing. And Arra, Tyro would be honest for a merchant, let alone a bandit. I trust him completely."

"What's your real name?" Tyro asked quietly, looking at Daine levelly. She shivered at the question, suddenly feeling too close to Elan even in this deserted stretch of the cave. Why did they keep asking her that question, as if it mattered so much? And even as the ice of the thought hit her, the cries of the bats started a few scant tunnels away. The other group was approaching.

"On the island, I'm Arra." She said finally. "If we get off it alive, then I'll tell you. But for now, we need to agree on a plan. Before Elan gets here. Which will be soon."


	22. And the Waves Came Tumbling Down

"So here's the plan," Tyro said briskly, addressing all of the newcomers and his own group at the same time. They were crammed into the corners of the cave, a sea of faces, and all listening. "We're going to go down to the lake. You'll have half an hour to pack up anything you want to take with you. If we walk quickly then we can be on the island before the creatures attack. Imagine that- sleeping safely for once!"

A general murmur ran through the crowd. Tyro held up a hand, waiting for them to be quiet, and then started again. "When we get to the island we will sleep, and in the morning we will assign rooms and tasks for you all. The mages who are fighting the monsters can do their study from there, but we must all help the fight! We will need to repair our weapons, and find food, and sort out some way to stop ourselves from freezing under the ground. We also need to keep making pipes, musical instruments. Bring what you need."

The people spoke to each other again, a soft hubbub that gradually rose to a roar. People who would have fought each other a few hours before turned to each other and talked excitedly about the rooms and trying to think of ways to solve the cold. The sight made Tyro grin, and he sat down on the rock he had used as a stage to watch. Good news is better than a treaty. If they had come here tonight with nothing but fear of another attack, then we would have been at each other's throats by morning.

Despite the general excitement of the crowd, a shiver ran down his spine. He glanced up to see Elan's eyes fixed on his intently. Trying to remember the way that Morgan had taught him to block off his mind, he shook his head as if to clear it. When he looked up again, the cold eyes slid away. They turned instead to his wife, who stood dutifully beside him but was smiling animatedly, laughing with the woman next to her. When Elan touched her arm she snapped around faster than a snake, and then forced herself to relax, her eyes wary.

How can anyone not see it? Tyro thought. She hides it quickly, but she loathes him.

Elan was talking to the girl in a measured undertone, inaudible from where the other man sat. The week had gone well, and Elan knew it. If he had been a cat he would have been purring. All of the players, even those who didn't know they were acting, had played their parts well. Even if he'd been upstaged, he was still one of the most important people on the island... and now he had his Sight back, he knew it wouldn't take him long to usurp the other ruling bastard.

So it meant little to him that his wife had disappeared after the meeting for a useless chat with a fish, or that he'd had to make excuses for her improper behaviour to the other bandits. Waiting for her, feigning concern, was no hardship, and the quiet away from the gossip of the camp gave him time to think. Having his Sight back meant that the torrent of thought that had been silent for so long screamed in his ears, untrained and wild. He could almost hear the rocks thinking. It was dizzying. Now that he was in this room filled with thoughts, he was glad that his shields were back in place. He didn't notice that a surprising number of thoughts were shielded, although it did annoy him that Tyro was doing it. Even so, his head hurt, as if people were pushing against it.

"Did you know that the Neferii can read minds, too? They wait under the water. Any profane thought and... well, that's the end of you." Daine didn't even look at him, but at her hands as if they were fascinating. Her soft voice ran under the general noise clearly. Elan scowled.

"That's not true."

"No." She almost sang the word, "But oops- I might have accidentally led a few people to believe it! They're asking the mages how to shield their minds. And you know, these rumours have a way of spreading."

"You little..." he started, grabbing and squeezing her wrist painfully, "Why would you do that?"

"Let go of my arm." She said quietly. He laughed, his eyes almost manic for a second. He couldn't believe it- a speech, a rumour, and suddenly she had the upper hand? Impossible. But she couldn't shapeshift here, not in a crowd, and he was perfectly right to chastise his wife for disappearing, even in front of hundreds of people.

"Or what, pet?" His voice was dangerous, his eyes narrowed almost into slits.

"Excuse me, sir." The words were impeccably polite. Elan glared up at the tall shadow who blocked out the torchlight. "You might not remember me, sir, but I'm the man who guarded your wife? And I just wanted to say that, well... I didn't risk my life protecting her all this time to watch a shabby little bully like you hurting her."

"This is none of your business." The sentence was a growl. When Elan stood up straight they were almost the same height, and for all of Numair's feigned politeness there was iron in his glare. Around them, the people were still chatting obliviously. Elan met the glare for a long breath of time, and then dropped his gaze and let go of the girl's arm. He shrugged.

"What's it to me, if you're here now? You can insult me all you like. At the end of the day, she's an ungrateful whore who you guarded for a day, but she's my wife until the day she dies. I know her better than you ever will. So keep your chivalry to yourself and mind your own damn business." The manic smile flickered and died. As rapidly as the confrontation had started, it ended in Elan striding through the crowd, presumably to locate his belongings. Daine rubbed at the red marks on her arm.

"Thank you," she smiled up at Numair, and then it faded. "I swear by the goddess that he's going mad."

"Sane men are easier to deal with." Numair glanced around, seeing that the people who deliberately ignored their leader hurting his wife were staring at this stranger talking to her with open speculation. Rather than say more, he bowed his head. "Mistress Arra."

Daine returned the gesture, and when she looked up he'd disappeared back into the crowd. She squashed the fleeting regret that she couldn't say more, that she could see the pain in his eyes whenever he looked at Elan... she stopped rubbing at her arm and went to pick up her own things from the collective pile, becoming just another member of the crowd.

888

"I have to time it just right." Numair said. "The Neferii might attack us if we get too close, but if they're screaming then they'll ignore us. I figure we'll have about ten minutes to get everyone across and destroy it, before the Johi reach the bottom of the cave." He sketched something into the dust, and then glanced at Tyro. "Is everybody ready?"

Tyro nodded, and then raised an eyebrow. "It's a nice coincidence, don't you think: the fact that they have to hide until the spell is cast means none of them will see it?"

"Very nice. Remind me to thank the person who arranged that." Numair grinned at him, and then pointed abruptly at the surface of the water. It was boiling, writhing with silken fins. "Time to go!"

Tyro turned and ran back to the cave where the people were hiding. As soon as he was gone, Numair slammed a rush of pure magic into the stone. The symbol he'd scratched there glowed for a split second, and sank into the ground. Cracks appeared in the stone, racing towards the lake, forming deeper and deeper fissures. And then, as suddenly as a fish leaping from the water, as liquid as the water it surrounded, a stream of rock and soil darted across the water. It spanned hundreds of feet, groaning as gravity tried to drag it back where it belonged, and finally reached the far shore. The whole cave shook with the impact, and a shower of icy chalk rained down from the roof. When the dust cleared, the bridge was finished- a massive span across the endless lake. Numair leaned back against the cave wall and grinned. Not bad work at all. A little rough, but it didn't need to look special to let people across it. He closed his eyes for a few seconds.

Someone shook him roughly. His eyes slid open, and he looked up. Tyro grimaced at him.

"Falling asleep? They're going across; we have to go."

"Where's..."

"Elan went across first with his lot. I guess she's with him. The Johi are coming... Come on!"

They ran to the lake and started clambering up the bridge. It was tough going- there were no steps or walls at the sides to stop you falling off, and the hundreds of people who had already climbed up had dislodged the smaller pebbles, making the larger ones shift. Because of the massive distance it spanned, it climbed high above the lake before reaching a peak. They rested there for a moment, out of breath, looking down at the hundreds of people still scrambling across the bridge. It was exhilarating. From this height, falling into the water would kill you without the Neferii having to bother.

Those creatures were screaming at the distant Johi, who ran down the cliff sides like water. They were more than halfway down the cave, and their laughter grew louder as they approached. As one, both the men stood up and started climbing down the other side of the bridge, sliding down scree and catching themselves on the secure rocks. Far below them, the crowd of people were doing the same thing, frantically looking around at the advancing children and pushing past each other in their panic.

There was a scream, a splash.

As one, every head whipped around to the sound. The man who'd fallen into the water stared up at them, half stunned by the height and the icy cold. His eyes slowly cleared. He shook his head. He gestured for the bandits to throw him a rope.

A woman pointed at the far water, and screamed. The neferii had broken into two groups, and one of them was streaming towards the bridge at an impossible speed, snarling. Their eyes flashed from watery blue to opaque white. Fury spat from their sharp pointed teeth as they screamed at the people on the bridge.

The bandits panicked. As one, they fled across the bridge. They fell over onto the stones and crawled back up, barely noticing the cuts and bruises they'd gathered. When they reached the island they kept running, crawled in through the trapdoor, grasping at it as they went past as if to close it after them.

The man in the water gasped, desperately swimming towards the shore. For ever meter that he pulled himself, the creatures behind him covered ten.

"We have to help him!" Tyro leapt down from the boulder he'd been standing on, frozen. They ran, ignoring the ground shifting under their feet, knowing that they'd never get there in time. Most of the people who were close enough to help were gone, and those that were left were looking at each other uselessly. Some huddled over in fear, or simply sat down looking lost.

The creatures bore down on the man, who shouted helplessly and still swam. Their hands reached out; long clawlike fingers scratched at the water violently. The tidal wave of water that their swimming had created struck him, sending him sprawling under the surface. He swam up and gasped for air, white with fear and cold, too frightened to move.

They swam closer. Twenty meters, ten...

With a dull keen, they stopped. It was as if they'd been yanked upright by their necks, so suddenly did they stop. The water frothed around them as they struggled, each wave striking the swimming man with a resounding slap. As one, their furious screams turned into bitter keening.

"Quick, get a rope!" Tyro shouted, bearing down on the frozen people on the bridge. They looked up blearily. "A rope, for Mithros' sake... pull him up!"

They shook their heads free of the shock, moving like sleepwalkers. Cursing at their slowness, Tyro tore through the packs until he found a length of rope. He didn't even tie it to anything; there wasn't time. He threw the end into the water as close to the man as he could. The man stared at it dully.

"MOVE, you soft maggot!" Tyro bellowed, waving the other end of the rope frantically. Numair caught up the trailing end and tied it around a rock rapidly, hoping like fury that it would hold. He fought the urge to magically pull him from the water. He was shaking with weariness now, and he didn't know if he'd be able to destroy the bridge if he spent any more power. What's one life, if we all get killed afterwards?

Out of breath, shattered from casting the spell, he looked around hopelessly at the cowering people. Some of them had snapped out of it, and the men were running to help with the rope. Others stayed crouched, terrified. He ran from one to the other, pulling them upright and sending them staggering off towards the island.

"His hands are too cold to hold on to the rope!"Tyro shouted over the noise of the writhing creatures. He didn't say- but they could all hear- the next thought. The children were at the base of the bridge. If they didn't pull the man up soon, they'd have to abandon him.

Near Numair, one of the crouching people looked up, one hand clutched to her head. "Oh for the Hag's sake." Daine cursed. She stood up, wincing, and saw Numair. Her eyes were odd, as if they were seeing more than just one picture, and flickered from side to side rapidly. This made her smile quite unsettling. "They're very... loud." She said unsteadily.

"How are you holding all of them?" Numair asked. She shook her head and looked towards the edge, where the bandits were all yelling advice down to the helpless man.

"Get them off the bridge," She said, and ran to the edge. Before any of the shocked bandits could think to stop her, she'd dived off. There was a splash, and for a second the monsters could move again. They swiped at the man, barely missing, one leaving red trails along his back. The pain made him yell, broke his stunned trance, and he grabbed again for the rope. His hands constricted; the waxed twine darted away again, swinging from the ledge.

Daine surfaced, gasping from the cold, and swam strongly towards him. Before her own hands could tense from the cold, she wrapped the rope around his waist and tied it as tightly as she dared. The men on the bridge cheered and began to pull, expecting her to simply hold on to the end of the rope.

She let go, treading water calmly, and smiled at the man as he was pulled clear. He reached out to her as if to pull her with him, but she shook her head and swam backwards, into the circle of creatures who thrashed blindly against the water. As if on cue, their heads all snapped around from the man they were hunting to this new intruder.

You could almost hear the noise as whatever was binding them snapped. As one, with a snarl, they dived forward. Daine vanished under a surge of water at the same time that the bridge creaked alarmingly and shook, settling a few feet to one side. The men pulling up the swimmer yelled and fell to the ground, holding onto the rope with a death grip. When it settled, they pulled him up the last few meters quickly and ran even before they'd untied the rope, dragging the poor man with them. Most of the cowering people screamed at the movement and ran too, and the few that were still stunned were bodily dragged by those who weren't.

The bridge shook again, shuddering violently, cracks littering its surface. On the peak, a child's face grew from the stone and laughed, the noise echoing like the noise of striking flints.

"Run, you idiot!" Tyro grabbed Numair's shoulder and yanked him forward, sending him flying into the middle of the bridge. The whole thing was shaking constantly now, rocks thudding heavily into the water. The Neferii were attacking both ends of it, trying to destroy it before the Johi could get any closer to their sacred land. When rocks fell into the water they picked them up and threw them, desperate to destroy it. The children laughed and screamed as if they were playing.

Running was the wrong word. They were thrown from rock to rock, scrambling upright and forward only to be thrown into another one. Blinded by the hail of dust and rock, they only realised they had reached the island when the ground stopped moving. Numair spun around as soon as they stopped and rested his palms flat against the base of the bridge, trying to catch his breath. When he could speak, he whispered a single word.

The bridge shook once, and turned to soft sand. Screeching, the Johi darted off it onto the mainland. Those who were too far from the shore to run clawed at the shifting ground, slipping from it as it gently bled into the lake.

Then, with a dull rushing roar, the whole thing crashed downwards. The bottomless lake swallowed it up as though it had never existed, and the only things left in the silence were the screams.

888

End of Part 2

888


	23. Whispers of Music

_It doesn't mean that you're immortal, you know. I have half a mind to ignore you the next time you do something stupid. What kind of a mother are you? Who risks the wellbeing of their child, just to save a stranger?_

_Heh... but it's different now, isn't it? There's a principle there, to be sure, but now you know some of these people. Trust one of them, and suddenly they all seem more human. One person who isn't a complete monster. Of course they're not, not to you. You think that all the monsters on this island know how to scream, but you're wrong._

_Or perhaps you're playing the game. I never bargained for their lives. You can win without one idiot who loses his footing on a bridge of sand. Of course, knowing which idiots are important... that's how you rig the deck._

_...You think this works in your favour, this deal we made? You're wrong. I promised life to your daughter. I promised eyes to see Tortall, and breath to reach it. But, and this is an example... I wouldn't worry, I could be lying. This is an example- I never promised that she would understand what she sees. I never promised her a loving family, or even arms to hold her once she reaches the shore. I never promised her a mind to think with. Did you think when flooding your own mind with the voices of the immortals, that her mind is safe? Fool._

_I have already turned the fates aside for this girl. The black god was waiting for her un-birthed soul, and I had to steal it from his fingertips. I can easily return it, if I so choose. I have half a mind to do it now._

_So feel free to destroy yourself, little bat, if you think I'll protect you. Life is such a slippery thing, but even if you're holding it by a hair's breadth, it's still there. I can keep my deal in a thousand ways that would destroy you, nonetheless. I can be creative. I can be cruel. But your daughter belongs to me, and if you try to break my property again I will feed your eyes to the crows.  
_  
888

Daine coughed and spat out the bitterly cold water, feeling the slime of wet soil under her fingertips. She lay still, fingers gently scratching at the soil, trying to remember how she had gotten back to blessed land. Her head ached with the words that had spoken in the black, words full of anger. They had crept into her mind with the screaming voices of the Neferii, all clamouring to be heard. She wondered if she'd jumped into the water to clear her head, more than to save that man. Stopping the creatures in their tracks had been the difficult thing; anyone could have dived in after him.

I thought I might be light enough to be pulled up with him... she thought, remembering forcing herself to smile when she saw the men struggle even with the single weight. What did he think she was trying to say, when they were both too cold to speak in anything other than smiles? It's alright. Go without me. I have four months before I can die.

And before that, before the biting cold... She'd sent out the command without thinking, remembering how she'd stopped birds in their tracks back in Dunlath. The immortals pushed against her almost as soon as they realised they were trapped, their own wild magic bleeding into hers and weakening it, turning the stone wall she'd sent out into a decaying net. And the voices! A thousand of them, far more than the twenty or thirty who were actually there. Every creature in the lake fought her.

The thought made her frightened, and she instinctively tried to claw herself further up whatever shore she was on. Her traitor limbs wouldn't let her. She remembered swimming for a long time, the exercise warming her just enough to keep her going, but she had no idea where she was swimming to. By then she couldn't see. And it was difficult... why? I can't remember... the biting pain wasn't just the cold trying to consume her. Kyprioth was right. He didn't stop the creatures from fighting her, just from killing her. Or perhaps he had nothing to do with it. They had other beings to kill, once the bridge started to fall and the Johi fell with it. They left her, and she swam away.

Land. Cold, dirt ridden land. Her feet found it first, and then her hands, and when she left the frozen water she slept. She could remember that. She had used every scrap of magic fighting off the Neferii, and every scrap of strength swimming blindly through the water. She was afraid now, afraid to open her eyes in case the darkness was still there. It was like being back in the tomb, buried alive in the dark. Her hands hurt from scratching at the dirt, but at least she knew it was there. From the thousands of voices, and the thousand things her eyes had tried to see at once, this at least was real.

Yes. It's real. You're lying in the mud.

Her voice, not Kyprioth's, and as sardonic as it got. Answering it would be difficult. If her fingertips could speak, then it would be no problem. But the rest of her refused to move. It refused to even shiver.

Get up. You'll freeze. The voice gave her a shove, and her arms twitched. The small movement sent shudders through her body, reminding her of how cold she was... but at least now she could move. Well, crawl. But it was a start, and it might shut the voice up... and which way? Forward!

She pushed herself forward, out of the mud, and her shaking arms dropped her straight onto the stone. Warmer, dry stone. Perhaps, she thought, this would be a better place to sleep.

Her eyes were already closed, but something else shut behind them, darkening the night. She slept.

"Arra? Mistress Arra, is that you?"

No, it's some other half-drowned human. The voice went from sleep to sarcasm in less than a second... impressive. Daine tried to answer, to push herself upright, but whatever power had driven her from the icy mud was completely gone. The delirious Daine-voice laughed incredulously at the thought of answering the question. I can hear you... Bring a blanket and not a coffin; I've spent enough time in the dark...

Time passed. No-one else spoke. Perhaps it was another voice in her head, and not some woman from the tribe. If it was someone from the tribe, then she was on the island.

Footsteps. Rough grit, smooth...probably sand. Mud, that unmistakable sound. Not too hasty, these steps, but definitely more than one person. Who would they fetch..?

There was a hand on her shoulder, turning her over so she was no longer facing the dirt. The bright light from the roof of the cave struck her eyelids like fresh air, brushing away the darkness. She tried to open her eyes, but the mud had stuck them down. As if reading her thoughts, the hand gently wiped away some of the grime. They had thought to bring some kind of cloth with them. It still took a massive effort for her eyes to open, and when they did it was too bright. The indistinct shadow blocked some of it, but she still shut her eyes almost as frantically as she'd tried to open them.

"She's alive!" Said the shadow, and relief was evident in his voice. It was that man, the other leader, the one with the rope... Tyro. The woman must have fetched him. He kept speaking, weirdly polite. "I hope you don't mind me carrying you, Mistress Arra, but your husband is busy at the moment, and I didn't have time to find anyone else."

The woman who had been there before sniffed loudly. "I thought she was d-dead! All still and cold and covered in blood like that..! And you know, they said that those creatures took 'er, and she saved Greg's life like that, 'n..."

"Ssh woman! Run back to the palace and fetch a healer. A woman would be best. Quick, like!" There was a sound of scurrying feet. Daine tried again to open her eyes, and this time she could keep them open. Blood? Why am I covered in blood? The water washed away anything the Neferii drew... she tried to look down, but her traitor head still wouldn't move. Panic washed over her. Oh gods, the baby... Kyprioth had been furious, but surely he wouldn't let that happen? He promised.

Fear startled her voice from her throat. "Ty..." she managed, struggling to sit up, to see. Another shudder was all she managed, before she fell back onto the stone. Tyro caught her before she tried again, picking her up as easily as a bag of meal. His face, when he looked down at her, was serious but kind. She tried to ask again, couldn't, and closed her eyes in frustration. Drawing up every scrap of strength she possessed, she forced her hand to move to her stomach, and desperately asked the question with her eyes.

"I don't know, I can't tell." He understood. "But you have to be still. You'll be fine, I promise. Morgan knew you were alive. He said you'd made some kind of deal, right? But you... gods, I don't know anything about womanly things, but if something is wrong then you'll make it worse by squirming like that, if only because I'll drop you! Look, we're nearly at the trapdoor."

Daine stopped trying to move. Let the darkness come back.

888

Every country has its own music, and Tortall was no exception. The music had grown over hundreds of years, cherished like a delicate flower alongside the literature and architecture that formed the great land. It didn't use the harsh chanter or clear chalumeau of its neighbouring lands, nor did it use the half-tone scales and melismatic singing that the Carthakis adored. But despite all that, its soft strummed tone was as distinct as any other nation.

If asked about Tortallan music, the first thought that came to mind might be the soft piping that you would hear in the market, surrounded by the mask of temple musk and cheap baked potatoes from the stalls, ignored but for the slight percussion of falling copper. Your second thought might be the chanting of priests- the same as in any kingdom, perhaps, but with its own flavour and cadences. This would be accompanied by the constant obbligato of whispered prayers and the steady bass of priests walking in procession, their leather sandals slapping the stone and dust like drums.

The next thought might be of the court. That was where the bards claimed the 'real' songs were sung. The gaudy ballads of pubs and street corners were transformed into odes, sung by beardless young men with wistful eyes to women who wore their glittering worth around their powdered throats. The chanting became hymns, the soft songs that everyone sings in hope. And the processions became dances- and there, there was the true colour of the country. The pavannes, where shy eyes first meet; the promenades, where the first steps are taken together. And the other dances- galliards, basse-danses, allemandes- the dances of what comes later, where the eyes hold more than shyness and the steps have more purpose. The music sang boldly what, in their confused culture's proper manner, could never be spoken of. A sigh of silk on a tiled floor, blushing velvet spinning wildly to a tordion... that was the music of Tortall. But all of these, from the common street flautists to the minstrels in marble halls, ignored the music of the bandits.

The bandits had their own music. Even though they were two tribes, even though they'd hated each other for so long, their music was the same. It was the music of hiding in caves, of sneaking through the forest. It was the music of raising a family knowing that if they were heard they would be executed. The music of hope when the rain fell on your head like it would never end. It was the music of joy, when the Riders moved away for the autumn, and once again the forests belonged to the people who lived there. The soft songs of sorrow, sung when another person was lost to the arrows of the law. Songs that spoke of heroic acts and selfless deeds, while their real life counterparts slowly rotted into the roots of distant trees.

In the tunnels it had an eerie air. It echoed and grew through the tunnels, and died with barely a whisper in the depths of the lake. For the first time since the bandits had arrived on the island, there was no reason to be silent. The other group who they had hidden from lived among them, and the creatures that swallowed their songs were trapped on the far shore. They sang liquid harmonies and crude ditties, laughing at the stranger's variations and swapping verses while their hands busily worked, whittling pipes and drums. Even those who were working on sorting the stores of food, or working on their mage craft, stayed nearby. And under the song, constantly, ran the steady stream of gossip.

They had chosen a vast hall for their common room. It was near the surface, but safely inside the palace walls. The ceiling and timbers glittered with carvings, embossed with gold leaf and mother of pearl. Among this opulence, the bandits lounged on their makeshift ragged blankets, starting fires on the glazed glass tiles and spitting into the corners. The women tutted, but were happy to clean the room each morning while the men went about their tasks. It was part of making the place a home.

Elan was in a comfortable group, drinking some of the strong liquor that someone had thought to bring to the island and laughing. The gossip that night was louder than usual, and all topics were the same... which naturally meant that most of the people in the room were eavesdropping on the chief's group.

"I hear she were brought in half dead, all covered in blood 'n mud," One of the men declared, his voice over-dramatic from the booze. The others nodded along, their expressions a mixture of fascination and horror.

"Elan, you weren't there, were you? But..." Another one started. Tyro held up his hand, grinning a little unsteadily, but his voice was sober.

"I don't know anything either, lads. She hasn't woken up yet, and the healer won't let nobody near her." _And that was probably Tyro's doing,_ he thought, grimacing at the thought. _The man has some bee in his bonnet about that girl. Stands to reason he'd still have a midwife alive in his camp, and I have to kiss his feet in thanks..._

"Stands t'reason they'd be protective of 'er, though." The first man hiccoughed and waved his whittling knife around vaguely. "I... Ai'mean, it were one of theirs who she saved, weren'tit? I di'nt see her diving off'n no cliff for one of us."

"Ah no now, none of us fell in though, did we?" The second man pointed out in the tones of a logical man. He belched loudly and added, "We know 'ow to keep our feet on the ground, reet?"

The men all laughed at that, shooting mocking glances through sideways eyes at the men from the other tribe. Although they mixed in well with each other in their daily tasks, in the evenings both groups kept to their own cliques. They just couldn't relax in the others' company as easily as their own. There was still the fear of saying something wrong, starting a fight, and being the one who everyone blamed for breaking the fragile peace. Because, after so many months of travelling in danger, running from monsters and keeping quiet, living on the buried island seemed like a haven.

"It's a miracle she's alive, like." One of the men said, raising respectful eyes to the heavens. The others nodded and drank a toast, their own respect directed partly at the gods and partly at their leader. Elan nodded again, but his eyes were sad.

"Now then lads, don't get so hung up on her. That's my job!" There was general laughter, and he carried on with a smile, "I know that you've all lost people. Your brothers, your fathers and uncles and sons, your womenfolk. Not that we should be resentin' someone for being spared- not at all- but I'm just sayin' that there's nowt else to it but luck. Don't be hero worshipping her for it."

"But your wife saved that man, Elan." The first speaker said unsteadily. "Don't you want thanks for that? There's many thinking that you'd make a better leader for it, since it happened. Tyro's done nothin' to compare."

"She did it, not me." Elan said evenly. They made dismissive gestures. This man who showed true leadership skills, who was so inspiring that even his wife was inspired to risk her life to save the tribe... and now being so modest!

The room suddenly fell quiet. A few whispers rippled around the edges, hidden behind hands and shocked expressions. All eyes fixed on the door.

Under the glittering pearl frame, highlighted by the dim shifting blue light that spilled in from the hall behind her, was a woman. Unlike the rough bandits in their travel stained clothes, she was wearing an elegant dress which trailed behind her. And her height bore the graceful fabric elegantly. She stood still, looking at the men and women in the room imperiously even as they stared back.

One of the men snatched his cap from his head, half-bowing reverently. "Pardon me, mistress, but are you the queen of this here palace?"

She blinked and looked at him blankly, still scanning the room. When no-one moved, she scowled and took a step into the room. The shadow of the door frame fell away, and as one all the people in the room took a breath. The woman was not human. The silver-blue of her skin was too rich to be put down to the odd light. The skeletal features and the occasional slits of gaping gills along her throat, seeming to bleed blue in the shadows, made her appear nightmarish. Her eyes were sharp as flints and green as emeralds. They drank in all the firelight but gave nothing back, appearing dead and lifeless. She stared around the room fiercely, but dispassionately.

She blinked. Silver film darted across her eyes rapidly, but her eyelids never moved. She waited until the people had stopped whispering- whether they were holding their tongues or simply too scared to breathe- and walked forward. The crowd parted in front of her like water. She stood in the middle of the room and let the people surround her. As terrified as the bandits were, their curiosity and the strange human poise of the creature fascinated them. _Plus,_ they were thinking, _we outnumber it._

"You're in our home." The creature's voice was a hiss, her face angry and sorrowful. "I bring no others. I want no war. But you have to agree to laws."

"Or what?" Someone shouted, and then ducked behind their friend. The creature didn't react past another slow blink. She raised an elongated hand and pushed one of the veil-like fins back from her face.

"We are many. We live in the depths. We don't kill you. You invade depths, look too much into palace, and we kill you. Tay-kiri says to ignore you, but you are like pesky molluscs, clinging on. You tried to cross the lake, and Children followed. You are danger. So we have truce to make."

A few heads in the room turned towards Elan, and then whipped back around. Elan was thinking frantically. He remembered keenly the dangerous claws and the speed these creatures moved with. But on the other hand, if he stood up as spokesperson, it was one step closer to being the leader of the palace. It's a good job that Tyro is on patrols tonight!

He stood up confidently, brushing dust from his knees and only remembering he was drunk when the ground wobbled. "I will hear your truce," He declared. The creature's head snapped around, faster than a heartbeat, and he was trapped in that green glare.

"You," the creature's hiss turned even more deadly. "You know Arra-Baby. You whisper in corners together. You think loudly."

"Sounds about right," Elan wondered if the bravado was just the alcohol talking. He stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling the eyes of the bandits on him. "But it's really none of your business, is it?"

"I don't understand 'business'. But after truce, you take me to see Arra-Baby."

"Boss!" One of the men whispered frantically, and then repeated it, "Boss! Should I fetch Tyro?"

"No time." Elan said, meeting the creature's stare. Her mind was like the coloured glass in temples- bright and glaring, but utterly opaque. He bowed to her instead.

"I am the leader of all the people here. I will hear the truce."

888


	24. Blame Me

_I am Ghada. It is my name and it is me. I am an 'it', and a 'she', and a Ghada. I am a friend._

_What is "friend"? It seems to be so much, so little. Little Bat, you speak so simply, so easy. My life is simple. I am an 'it' to you, and then a Ghada, but never a Ghada-Me. I became a Ghada-Friend, and I don't know what that is. Someone who cares? Someone who protects?_

_I remember everything. That is my being. That is my life. I only know about 'forget' because the humans from the before time told us. They ask questions, and ask the same questions again, just years later. We do not. There is no point. For us, truth can happen only once. Your truth confuses me. There is more than one of you, more than one of your truth._

_You touched the lake. I let you live. I own your life. You took away my truth._

_I hate you._

_No. A lie._

_I would hate you, but I don't know what to hate. What are you?_

_My truth rots; you say one thing and mean two things. I cannot make you understand me. You blame me for it. I am not stupid. I am not a bleary-eyed fish. I am a Ghada. You will not use me like this._

_What are these thoughts? Why do I not embrace the lake? Hundreds of years, and I am not troubled. And now? A decade would have passed easily before this. Now your short heartbeat lives slow the days. I see the sun rising. I see the bats._

_I cannot live like this. Eternity is not days. Eternity is liquid._

_Perhaps that is 'friend'. To care is not just to heal. To care is to watch. To care is to have interest. To care... to care enough is to watch the day pass slowly, because the day holds the one you care about. I cared when you touched the lake, because you were odd. I cared while I killed you. I cared when I let you go. The care didn't change. You changed._

_You asked me, why are there two of you? I cannot see anything that isn't true. But now I see your lies. You wear them like fins. You are one and two and many, and nothing true. Your truth is in your friend. He holds your truth like precious pearls. You both keep it from me. I desire it. I hate you for keeping it hidden. I hate him more. Why would you give truth to a fragile human? He will wither; I will cherish it forever._

_I did not come here for you. But the care is still there. I am divided. I speak to myself. I ask, why is my truth gone? Why must I both hate and care? I cannot decide._

_Today, I made a truce. I was told to. The People asked me. I am most practiced at human speaking. I can hold dry form. I am not hating, like they are. I am not angry. They cannot look at the island. The Children nearly reached it. Their hands were too close. We are in pain. It is the human fault. I am not angry. I cannot care about the Children. I am too consumed with thought. They cannot see it. It is not a truth._

_But we are clever. We saw that you would starve, you would be desperate, and you would cross again. And next time, the Children wait. We do not want you to cross. So we will feed you. We will bring things to burn. You need heat like flowers, and food like rats._

_You must never cross the lake again._

_I delivered the truce. I made it good with the one whose eyes look sideways. He does not interest me. He holds no truth. He agreed. The palace is our ground, and not to be hurt by humans. And the lake is not to be touched. He agreed. My work is finished._

_I try to leave. I place my hand on the wall and watch mother lake dance outside. I am not swimming, but I am home. My home is precious. My home is full of insects. It is my fault. I brought you here._

_I heard them speaking of you. I waited in the lake, listening. When the wall dragged me through, they became silent. They had fear. I asked to see you. I wanted to drown you. I am not sure now. I promised not to hurt you. But I promised to the one who hides more truth than you ever did. We kept the truth, he kept the lies. He told us what truth was. He does not do that now. He just tells us what to do._

_It would be easy, so simple. All it takes is one breath, and the black god can take you home. It would not hurt. It would not break my word._

_But I cannot decide._

_I am taken to you. I see you. You are sick again. Such a fragile creature. It is just like last time. Each time I try to send you to the black home, I cannot. Until I know the truth, I cannot destroy the lie. And the woman runs away, screaming, and I take her seat._

_I think. I speak aloud. You creatures do not know how to listen. My words are safe._

_Your friend is not here to care for you. You would die for him. Is that what you are trying to do? Perhaps that is what you want. Perhaps I should let you. Tay Kiri could not blame me._

_I cannot speak to you in the black realms. I cannot reach them. I wish you to speak._

_Wake._

888

It was a week later when the door of the healer's room slowly opened, and someone who wasn't a healer stepped out. And it was an hour after that before the healer realised that her charge had sneaked out, and tried to find her. The thought made the healer tut under her breath- Arra was barefoot, and on these horrible stone floors, and she shouldn't be walking in the first place.

The girl was better at hiding than a sick person should be, though. Emma gave up looking after a long while. She didn't trust herself not to get lost in the vast maze of corridors, and someone would find Arra soon enough. There were exploring groups being sent out every few hours, since only a tiny section of the palace was inhabited even with the hundreds of people living there. One of the immortal creatures had shown them a room with a stream of fresh water pouring from the ceiling and out through the floor, and another series of vast rooms where strange plants grew in a drowned, silken mist. But they had left it at that; the bandits weren't allowed to explore, but as Elan put it, "We have to know what to avoid."

The plants tasted odd, but they were fresh and filling. The stream carried fish. There were tubers and gourds, and each meal the women tried to work out ways to cook them. Their shells could be burned, along with the branches of the plants. There was no need to leave the island for food or fuel, even when their stores began to rot. They settled in. They filled their days with making instruments and talking, and trying to make their cold stone home more comfortable, as if they were back at home, hiding out for the winter months.

It would have been homely, if not for the screams that still filled their lives each night, louder than ever before. The people shivered in their rooms and covered their ears. Most of them slept in the same communal room, preferring the sounds of snoring strangers to the hollow loneliness of the shrieks.

The healer was wrong about Daine, though. She didn't need to be found by anyone. She knew exactly where she was going. But she was good at hiding. She had shifted her ears so she could hear people coming, and had gotten used to ducking into dark corners before they could see her. After the warmth and numbing inactivity of being the healer's care, the cold corridor woke her up like a breath of fresh air. More than anything else she wanted to get away from the woman's prattling. She knew that the healer meant well, but there was only one thing she wanted to talk about, and it wouldn't leave her mind for long enough for her to listen to anything else.

The further she got from the entrance, the less people there were, and the faster she could walk. She let her ears shrink back to normal, knowing that they were hidden under her hair. She'd been listening in on the people near her room for days, working out what was going on. The healer had told her some of it, but it was mostly about having fresh water and food. As far as she'd heard, no-one had accidentally set off a spell or noticed anything strange about the palace. Keith had objected loudly a few times, his voice carrying. We're under water already! The pressure is wrong for there to be a river! But even the people he'd never met before instinctively ignored him.

She hadn't heard Numair at all. That was how she knew where he was. He'd be throwing himself into researching the spell, forgetting to eat, forgetting to sleep even. Maybe Tyro had kept him away. It would look odd, the chief's second man visiting a girl's sickbed. And they all knew Elan well enough to guess what the comments would lead to.

So. Back to the crypt. Easy enough to follow the trail of footprints now, there were more of them. And this time when she got there the heavy carved door was open, and instead of a light or a painting there was a mosaic on the floor, made of pearl and glass and glowing softly in the blue-half light from the door. She stopped short, her throat painfully tight. Now she was here, she couldn't think of what to say. She didn't even know if she could say anything. She stayed in the hallway, not daring to take a step closer. Her feet were being too stubborn to let her turn around, but they let her sit down against the wall. Perhaps, they told her, when you think about it, you'll be alright again.

She didn't know how long she sat there. She stared at the water outside the wall. It shifted, like smoke. And it wasn't blue, it was green and grey and yellow and strange glimmers that weren't even colours. It might not even be water, she thought. It could be some other riddle. It could be cider. Do I even care about that anymore?

Her feet were cold. It was easy enough to wrap up in a blanket, but stealing shoes would have been difficult. She covered them with the edge of the cloth. The fabric rustled against the stone floor. Not a loud sound. Loud enough.

"Who's there?"

Traitor feet, thought Daine, you got your own way just by being cold? Thanks a bunch.

A head peered around the doorframe, staring at her. So she stared back levelly. Keith. Well, of course he'd be there. The other bandits would want him as far away as possible! He nodded a greeting and stepped out into the corridor.

"Hello," He said, "Do you know, I've never actually spoken to you properly?"

"Today wouldn't be the best day to start," she started, and then shook her head in apology. "What are you doing down here?"

He shrugged and leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. "It's quiet. People stop asking us to do chores if they think we're experimenting with destroying different kinds of stone and playing with dangerous magic."

"And... what are you actually doing?" Daine folded her hands inside of the blanket, still cold. Keith smiled and made an expansive gesture with his hands.

"I'm experimenting with stone destruction, and Morgan is playing with dangerous magic. But when we're bored of that we play cards." He tapped his nose in what he thought was a confiding gesture, and then seemed to notice her expression for the first time. "Do you want me to get Morgan?"

"Not if he's busy." She said too quickly. Keith raised an eyebrow.

"No? I think he'd like to see you. He's been keeping himself busy ever since Tyro found you. Too busy, really."

She looked down at her covered feet. "I know."

"Not that I'd ever complain about a fellow scholar's work ethic," Keith careened on, "And it's to your credit that you'd want him to keep working, but he's only meditating and I can poke him with a stick or something."

"No, thank you." Daine realised her voice, as level as it was, was a good as inaudible to the scholar. He smiled generously, not hearing her words at all.

"That settles it, then. I'll get him for you." He ambled back into the mosaic room cheerfully.

"How did you ever live through university if you poked meditating mages with sticks?" Daine muttered, seething inwardly, not looking up at the door. Instead of an answer, there were running footsteps and she was picked up in a hug so tight that she could barely breathe.

"You're okay," Numair said, his voice catching slightly.

"I'm squashed," Daine told him. He looked slightly guilty and loosened his grip, but didn't put her down. She smiled despite herself and traced the line of his cheek with her fingertip, trying to ignore the worry line between his eyes. "It's good to see you."

"You're frozen," His voice was serious. She looked away, and his expression changed at the unconscious gesture. In a more careful voice, knowing something was wrong, he asked, "How long have you been out here?"

"Long enough to talk to Keith. I don't know."

"Well, that could be years. No wonder you're cold." He carried her into the mosaic room and sat down next to a burning brazier, still holding her tightly. Daine was surprised- the room was as majestic and eerily magical as it had been before, but there was also a very lived-in clutter of pots and pans, food, clothes and blankets around the walls. They were carefully not touching the walls, in case the spell shifted back to them, but at the moment all the clutter was neatly pushed away from the mosaic floor.

"Are you living here?" Daine asked. Numair shrugged.

"The room changes shape once a day, but at irregular intervals." Keith said from a corner. "We're observing it. So far there seems to be a deviation of forty minutes on either side of the hour, but the hour alters incrementally, so..."

"Is that a yes, Keith?" Numair gibed. The man flushed slightly.

"I thought she'd be interested, is all."

Daine didn't answer, feeling warmth starting to spread back into her feet. The glass floor reflected the blue-green water light from the doorway and the firelight, sending shifting colours across each surface. Even if the room wasn't magical it would still look it, covered in this rainbow of light. Everything seemed so peaceful here, so right...

... and she felt so detached from it that she might as well still be sitting back in the hallway in the icy cold, watching the water outside its glassy wall. For days, since she'd woken up, she'd concentrated on that wall. She'd built one in her own mind, shard by shard. She tried to keep everything that hurt, all the guilt and the fear, on the other side of that wall, and just stay safe on the other side.

Why had she come here? She knew that she'd only come to talk to Numair, and as soon as she even thought about what she needed to say the glass wall fractured, a thousand hairs running across it like water. No, she didn't want to talk. She wrapped her arms around the mage and buried her head against his chest, willing the horrible thoughts away and just wanting to be here.

Keith was still talking somewhere, distantly. His voice faltered slightly at something Numair said, and for the first time in his life he decided to tactfully withdraw. As soon as his footsteps faded, Daine started crying and found she just couldn't stop. Numair stroked her hair and spoke to her softly, but the glass wall blocked her ears and wouldn't let her hear. It hissed at her instead, you don't deserve to be comforted. He doesn't understand what you did.

"I'm a horrible person," She whispered when she could breathe again. "Even Kyprioth said so. And I came here to talk to you, and all I can do is cry, and it's not right. We can't start like this." She got up and walked around the brazier a little, putting space between them. "I was going to say 'sorry', but it's not good enough, and I wanted you to forgive me, but I don't think you should." Her voice was almost inaudible.

Numair reached for her hand, but she pulled it away sharply. "No! Don't you understand? Kyprioth brought her back, he undid it, but... but I killed our daughter. I was stupid and arrogant and I thought whatever I did wouldn't matter. It was my fault, and I didn't think twice about it. And she died. How can I ask you to forgive me?" She looked at her hands. They were shaking. "I can't even forgive myself."

"But... she's fine." The man started, and Daine shook her head.

"What if she wasn't? If I was here, right now, telling you how I lost your child to the black god's hands, would you be saying that?"

"That's not the point. She is fine. If you're going to feel guilty over 'what if's', then why stop at your own faults? How about this: What if I'd stopped you from jumping in the lake? What if I'd taken you home when we had the chance? What if you'd been killed by a Johi after we set them loose?" His voice was unusually sharp. "How far can we lay blame? It's my fault, and it's your fault. Perhaps it's Tyro's fault for trying to save that man, or the man's fault for falling in. Perhaps it's the Neferii's fault for fighting you. But Shakith knows, none of them deliberately set out to hurt the baby, any more than you did."

Daine sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Why must you always be so...bookish about things?"

"It seems to work. I won't sit here and let you destroy yourself with guilt over something that has already gone away." His voice softened, but his eyes kept the same serious intensity. "Sweetheart, even if you had lost the baby I wouldn't blame you for it. The gods choose all our paths, even if those paths involve jumping off bridges. I'm just happy you're alive."

"I'll be more careful from now on, I promise. I won't do it again." Daine realised she was babbling and flushed. This time when Numair reached for her hand she took it, and moved back closer again.

"And I refuse to magic another bridge, on the off chance that Daine might take it into her head to jump off it again." Numair crossed his heart and held up a hand dramatically. The stupid gesture made the girl grin. Something shifted in his eyes- uncertainty, maybe. "Did you say it's a girl?" He asked quietly, an irresistible smile creeping across his face. Daine nodded, knowing her own face was lit with the thought.

"It makes it so much more real, doesn't it?" She cuddled up closer to the man and caught his hand, pressing it against the curve of her stomach. "She's not kicking yet, but she's there!"

Numair caught his breath, his hand slowly tracing the shape as if he could see the baby by doing it. Daine leaned her head against his shoulder and blocked out every thought but the warm weight of his hand, following the movement her own hands had been making unconsciously since she'd found out she was pregnant. 

_It's not just my baby anymore,_ she realised with a rush of tenderness, _It's ours. It's not a secret or a part of my old life; it's our little daughter growing here on Tariro._


	25. Time Passes

Life became... boring. The bandits settled into their new routine quickly, and when the dazed smoke of their new peace wore off, they found that the days passed rather slowly. They could explore- more dusty old rooms with crumbling furniture- or they could work, but there seemed to be little point. For the moment they were safe. The thick smoke fog of winter rolled across the lake until it seemed like their palace was buried under the clouds. Even when they walked in the fresh air, looking longingly up at the true daylight, the white fog blinded their eyes. They were used to fighting for their lives, and suddenly they had no purpose. They made flutes in the day, or sharpened weapons, but as a whole the bandits were bored.

This would have made trouble for Tyro, if he had dared to challenge Elan. The man had crowned himself the leader of the island, ordering both his own people and Tyro's around easily. He would mask his orders with smiles, and the people would see through that smile to the stories of heroism and follow it. Tyro had a far few people, for sure, who followed him loyally because they knew him. But most of the bandits began to look up to their new leader, liking the sense of purpose he gave them. Each day he would give you a task, if you asked for something to do, and each evening he would congratulate you on your hard work.

Tyro could have challenged him at the start, when his people were still his own. He could have pointed out the headaches they were all feeling, explained why Elan seemed to instinctively understand them. But he didn't have the heart, or the stomach, to start the fight that so many of them longed for. They were happy for the most part, and the constant whisper in his mind told him that if a war started, that would be the end of all of them.

He became better friends with Morgan and Arra over those weeks, joining them in the crypt of the palace whenever he felt he could get away from his people without worrying. Elan seemed quite happy to let his wife work with the scholars. He was so busy no-one really questioned him about it. Arra smiled and told Tyro that her husband was too busy to be constantly watching her, and as long as he knew where she was he was happy. He sometimes stopped her from working, if there was a meeting with the other women or he wanted her to stand next to him at some rousing speech, but as a rule they were rarely even seen in the same wing as each other. She left their rooms before the slanting white-green light even lit the palace, and worked alongside Morgan and Keith from dawn until sunset.

This work confused Tyro. Some days the room was full of a series of paintings, some days it just had a bowl of water on a simple carved table. Sometimes when he went there was nothing there at all, just an empty room without even any people in it. Books and strange golden artefacts appeared and disappeared, although all three of them hid them when they heard footsteps and didn't start reading again until they knew it was safe. The hallway gradually turned into an extended chemistry set, with crude cooking tins being used as melting pots and fires that burned too steadily to be anything but magic. That was where Keith worked, sometimes with some of the other mages from upstairs, destroying rocks.

Now that he knew their secret, or at least part of it, they seemed completely different from the slightly cold people he had spoken to before. Even Morgan was different, laughing more and speaking more openly with Tyro when he asked questions. Tyro still didn't believe half the answers, but when Morgan realised that fact he made his stories sillier rather than trying to make them more believable. They grew into a comfortable truce- if you ask questions, you'll get a daft answer, but we won't be angry for having to make it up.

Tyro started to notice other things about them, too. They spoke to each other with their eyes, not needing words, but when they did speak to each other their conversations were lively and intelligent, each of them easily teasing the other one if they tripped up or made a mistake, but just as quick to turn the mockery on their own mistakes. When they worked together they were just as concise, working quickly with the practice of a long friendship.

"How has Elan not noticed what's going on between you two?" he asked bluntly, after a month. Both of them looked up, looking more confused at the question than anything.

"We're not the same around other people," Arra said, pointing out the obvious. "Especially not around...him. And he's busy at the moment; he doesn't see things that aren't in front of him. Not anymore. He's making a kingdom; he has other things on his mind."

"Doesn't that bother you?" Tyro rolled his eyes as they exchanged glances. "There, you're doing it again."

"You're the leader. If it bothers anyone, it should be you." Morgan pointed out. "Down here, we're pretty much out of it. And when we work this spell out, it won't matter."

Tyro ignored the gibe at his lack of leadership and walked over to the table in the middle of the room. Today it held a statue of a dancing girl, her feet wreathed with bangles and veils drifting from her arms. Even though it was cast in bronze, the veils still seemed almost transparent. It had to be magical. He peered at it but didn't touch it.

From what he understood, each of the things that appeared in the room did different things. Pictures could make you see what they were painted from, but they might also trap you inside their frames. Bowls of water could heal or poison. The statue could make you more graceful, or summon a simple illusion of a dancing girl. There was no way of telling. Or, at least, they hadn't found out how to tell yet. They said the spells were all part of a bigger spell, and if they worked out that one then they could ignore all of the smaller spells. But it was taking so long, so many weeks, and they really had no results to show to Elan.

Keith seemed to get more and more uncomfortable as the weeks went by, actively blushing whenever Daine was in the room, until one day she confronted him about it. He made a point of not looking at her swollen stomach, but still turned red. "Are you sure you should be here, in your delicate... um, more fragile... state?" Daine pulled a face at him.

"It doesn't bother me, and it's the last time any of you get to ask me that, okay? If it bothers you, then don't look."

"Subtle, Arra." Numair muttered, keeping half his gaze on his book. Daine rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Like you haven't been thinking the same thing, mister high-and-mighty mage?" She grinned suddenly and winked at Keith, who turned redder. Her voice was a confiding stage-whisper. "He was waiting for you to say something, to see how I'd react."

"I was not!" Numair looked up, scowling, and then buried his nose back in the book. His voice carried on, mumbling. "I knew how you'd react already. See, there's a difference! And I wasn't going to ask because I was embarrassed to look at you, either... sorry, Keith." He said slightly guiltily, seeing the scholar's obvious attempt to sink into the floor. "Of course, you acted like a perfect gentleman."

"Of course." Daine echoed, but her eyes were seeking out Numair's, questioning. "What were you going to say, then?"

"What are you going to say, if anyone else suggests you stop working here?" Like Elan, the words were unspoken but obvious. The girl paused, tapping her foot as she thought.

"I'm not doing much here. It's warm and quiet. If I go upstairs I'll feel guilty for not running errands."

"No you won't," Numair laughed, then held up a hand. "But yes, I see what you mean." He turned his eyes onto Keith, "Sorry, my friend, but she makes a good argument. We'll just have to resign ourselves to spending more time with her."

888

This is Tyro's memory. He doesn't know why he dreams it so often. A few years have passed, for sure, but not enough to scare away the details. Perhaps it is his way of speaking about it. He doesn't talk to anyone about it, that's certain. But the demons that haunt dreams, sent by the gods to test and taunt... they listen with open ears. And he's been dreaming it more and more. Something, some small detail, has prompted those demons to dance. He doesn't know what it is.

This is his memory. He wishes it was someone else's. Every time he relives it, he screams at himself to act differently. This is his memory.

He'd come to the camp late in the day. It had taken him a while to find it. The trail signs that bandits leave are designed to be almost invisible, and he'd had little practice in tracking them from his work in the ports. They'd let him go easily- a chance to work, to eat food that wasn't stolen and to speak openly to ordinary people- of course, not for everyone, but some people left. And they trusted him. Sometimes when someone left the camp they opened their mouth too quickly. They were lulled by the easy work and the warm rooms they could sleep in, and all too soon they tried to confide in an open ear. And just as quickly, a group of soldier recruits would swoop down on them. They would be dragged to the prison.

There was no legal protection for a confessed bandit, and they were tortured until the rest of their casual secret was forced from them. And then the riders would be sent to find them, and there would be weeks of hiding and fighting and bleeding.

But they trusted Tyro. He was the leader's son, and he was hardly a teenager running away from home. He simply liked ships.

He found the trail signs eventually, and followed them. The bandits were camped among some of the massive gnarled roots that made natural coves in the woods. They'd been there long enough to dig under the trees, so that if they were discovered they could crawl underneath and drag branches across to hide themselves. Buried right under the Riders' noses, and it always worked. They weren't hiding that night. In fact, Tyro rightly guessed, they were planning some sort of fight. They tensed when they saw the stranger, in a grating of steel and the creak of leather, and then grinned when they recognised him. But none of them stopped sharpening, or checking the flights of arrows, or tying leather armour.

"You're back, then." One of them said nonchalantly. Tyro grinned back, putting his pack down. Of course he hadn't been able to send word in advance, but if the sentries hadn't seen him coming an hour ago, he'd be surprised. They probably knew that he'd gotten lost, as well. Bugger. He untied some of the straps from his pack and took out a short knife, the hilt wrapped around with leather thongs to hide the bandit markings on it. The man who'd spoken to him shook his head.

"You'll not be coming along, little brother. T'ain't no fishes we're after." There was good natured laughter, and Tyro grinned in reply, tying the knife to his belt.

"Who said I wanted to come along? I had a mind to go hunting, is all."

"We're hunting." His brother's face was serious, the playfulness masking it enough to hide the glint in his eyes. "Sick we are of scrawny hares and berries, we're getting some flour and cheese and money for new cloth. 'Tis the kind of hunting you swore away from, Ty."

Tyro forced himself to shrug, wishing he'd returned a few days later. If they were planning a raid, there would be weeks of hiding afterwards. He'd been looking forward to climbing the mountains, breathing the open air without the tang of salt in it. Oh well...

He watched them go in silence, as did the women, each privately wishing them good fortune. And then they went about their business normally. They greeted Tyro, all of them hiding their thoughts as his brother had, but even their eyes held that glint. When he'd left, he'd left all this behind. Swore away from it, isn't that what Wade had said? They gave him food, and their eyes asked him if he was above eating the food stolen from others.

He ate it, and hungrily. He'd been raised on it. He spoke to his friends, feeling awkward still. He yawned. He slept.

He woke up. The sharp mountain rocks dug into his back, but it wasn't that which had woken him. There were shouts- not even the soft calls that they usually used, but cries of pain and panic. Someone must have been hurt- badly hurt. He struggled up, his feet tangling in the blanket until he swore at it and kicked it away.

It wasn't Wade. His brother was standing by the fire, carrying a hessian sack over one arm and his unsheathed short sword in the other. In the firelight the blade looked dark, more purple than red, more liquid than metal. The shouts were coming from the other side of the fire; whoever was hurt was thankfully concealed by the flames.

"What the blue blazing hell happened?" Tyro demanded, shaking from the sudden awakening and the weirdness of this homecoming. Wade turned to him, eyes almost as red as the sword and consumed with fury.

"The damn house was witched- cursed, by the looks of it. We charge in, thinkin' it'd be an easy hit, might not even have to kill 'em... the pretty lady and the old man. Pah." He spat into the fire. "She was one of them ones, the ones what look you in the eye and smile while their fingers are casting summat. We clouted the man round the head, and didn't he bleed, and then the whole thing just... exploded."

"She was a mage, then?" Tyro couldn't follow the conversation. Wade shrugged.

"Healer, maybe. Nothin' strong. No, we was fightin' her animals. They all went for us... every dog, every chicken, every mouse in the walls... have you ever fought off a witched mouse?" He rubbed his arms, and his brother noticed that they were littered with strings of tiny bites. "We stomped on 'em, and cut at 'em, and people were hackin' at each other, they were that confused. And when they were all dead we took the stuff and burned the place behind us."

So went Wade's story, and Tyro didn't believe a word of it. Animals didn't just do that. Maybe there was a litter of kittens they'd disturbed or something, but... farm animals and mice? The man who was hurt rambled on about animals too, but he was delirious from the knife cut he'd gotten from a fellow bandit.

And then... a few days later...

The nights were always perfectly silent. No-one snored, they'd all been trained out of it from birth. The animals in the forest would make noises, but not the humans in the camp. They lived by their stealth. They would hear a stranger, see them coming a mile away. The scream that tore through the camp and ended in a sickening gurgle was terrifying.

The delirious man was dead. It was no vision that had killed him; his throat had been torn out. His eyes were open and staring in horror at something in front of him.

The bandits scoured the camp, looking for clues, but there weren't even any prints around the body. Maybe the stones that littered the ground had shifted slightly in the dirt, but it did no good to guess. They stayed awake, watching warily, and when dawn came they shifted their camp.

Two people disappeared that day, leaving the line to relieve themselves behind the trees and vanishing with the same curdling screams. And then people started vanishing from the line itself, dragged into the thick underbrush screaming and never re-emerging. And still, never a sign of what was doing it, never a footprint from anything that wasn't a bandit.

The bandits started looking askance at each other, arguing over whose idea it was to attack a cursed cabin. Who had brought the curse back with them? The forest had turned against them, and it was all the raiders' fault. They drew their knives and didn't sheath them again, walking with them ready to kill. That night they slept in a circle, with people looking outwards in all directions.

That night, Tyro climbed a tree. He didn't sleep. In his crow's nest of branches, he stared down at the camp. The moonlight was enough to light the shapes- even the ones on guard were perfectly still, saving their strength.

When the shadows streamed into the clearing, they attacked the guards first. Each shadow ran straight to a guard, without seeming to think about it. Before they had time to scream, their blood ran into the soil and soaked their friends who slept beside them. The same shadows then turned to the others, who had woken at the warm rain and drawn their knives. It was almost ridiculous, the ease with which the shadows killed thme. But some were different. The larger shadows bit the weapons from hands but not the life from throats, and then stayed still. Their voices were ominous growls in the night, and Tyro realised that even the night birds were silent.

A last shadow darted into the clearing, stopping beside the larger shadows. One of them, one of the crippled men, held up a hand pitifully. It was Wade.

"Wait- don't hurt him!" Tyro realised that he'd shouted it out loud. The shadows span around, and the last one looked up. The moonlight caught its face, and he saw that it was a girl. Not much more than a child. The yellow light caught her eyes, and he shuddered. Much, much less than human. It crawled on all fours to the base of the tree, sickeningly nimble, arms and knees tucked in like the other shadows. They weren't changelings, like this creature. They were wolves, snarling with bloodstained jaws.

They watched the creature child, and Tyro realised that they were waiting for her to command them. Wolves on their own couldn't have planned such an attack, just as a child alone couldn't kill a whole tribe.

He couldn't see the creature. It was at the base of the tree, hidden by branches. But he could hear it. It sniffed, smelling the air loudly, drinking in great lungfuls of his scent. Tyro wondered what it could smell- his clothes still sang of tar and salt water, his hands were coated in sticky tree sap. The creature growled and must have lashed out, because the tree shuddered. Dew dripped from its branches in a sweet-smelling cloud. The creature child made another sound, and he could see her again- running on all fours back to the two captives.

The creature stared at them evenly. They stared back. It snarled, and leapt forward. The wolves all descended on the two men, engulfing them in shadows and a chorus of shrieks that turned into howls, loud and triumphant. Tyro threw up, the branch that cradled him swaying in the night breeze. He leaned his head against the trunk and closed his eyes, and willed this to be a nightmare and not real.

When he opened his eyes, the creatures had melted into the trees. He stayed cradled in the branch until dawn, and then ran back down the mountain, back to the docks.

What on earth would make me remember this? He woke up and dashed the tears from his eyes angrily, knowing that he was soaked with cold sweat. It was probably the screams that tore the air each night, or the carnage they'd run away from on the mainland. But he'd heard screams since that day, and he'd seen death, and neither had brought the dreams back this sharply.

A memory pestered him. A girl, looking up, her eyes caught by moonlight. A woman, glancing up, her eyes caught by the yellow light of a flickering brazier. A wild child who speaks to wolves. A strange woman who speaks to immortals...

Put it down to coincidence.

She's the right age, she's got a Gallan accent... and everyone grows up, even changeling children.

And put the puzzle together... don't pretend that every time a strange story about unnatural animals has reached your ears you haven't paid attention. Don't pretend that you haven't wondered, haven't listened to stories about Gallan women since that day. Haven't tried to find out everything you could...

It could still be coincidence.

He ran a hand through his hair, not noticing that it was shaking or that cold sweat pooled in its palm. This was just the remnant of a nightmare, not a proper thought. He was... what was the word, "projecting"? An old memory, a new pair of eyes, and he decided she was a murderer?

He wanted to ask her. More than anything. He wanted her to deny it. Then he would know it wasn't true. He'd know for sure.

But he couldn't ask Arra now. After a series of arguments, Elan had finally and publically forbidden her from walking down to the crypt now that she couldn't see her own toes, and there was no other place where she'd speak honestly about anything. He couldn't ask Morgan. He had no idea if Morgan even knew about the wild mage.

It wasn't that he wouldn't be able to talk to her. Tyro spoke to her every day in the communal hall, seeing how forlorn she looked now she couldn't see Morgan. The other women put her quietness down to the natural fears of an expectant mother. The men generally avoided looking at her, although when she was with her husband there was always one of Elan's wiry right-hand men at her side, supposedly guarding her.

When they spoke it was of trivial things, or small flippant jokes. It could never be anything serious. She told him she was bored of sitting around, and terrible at making cloth from the plant fibres like the other women were learning to do. She told him that she thought the Neferii were listening in to the songs the bandits sang each night, since they swam closer in the evenings. She told him that she was practicing her recorder playing, and that Morgan had told her to.

She'd never mentioned leading a pack of wolves on a killing spree. Tyro was sure he'd remember a conversation like that.

But he was tempted- so, so tempted- to call her Veralidaine Sarrasri, and see if she answered.

888


	26. Losing Your Wings

"Most of all, I miss the sun." The man stretched lazily in the blue light. There were nine or ten of them, leaning against the glass walls in one of the corridors. "I don't mind the creepiness, and the fishy smell, but... sunlight, you know?"

The other men nodded. They'd been speaking about the island for the first time since they got here. It seemed almost selfish to complain about the place- after all, they weren't being massacred here- but now their lives stretched into dreariness, and they wanted to complain. It didn't unnerve them that Elan was with them- some of the other bandits had started treating him with a respectful reverence, but these men were his closest friends. They would fight for him. Speaking in front of him, even to complain, was natural. The man listened with one ear, staring sideways at the water dancing behind the glass.

"What do you think they do all day?" He asked, half to himself. "Do you think they're really looking for a way to kill those things?"

"They're taking their time," one of the men agreed, exchanging glances with the others. A few of them laughed at the comment, mentioning lazy mages and slow scholars, until they realised that their leader wasn't joining in.

"I don't think it's funny." Elan stretched his legs out, fighting off pins and needles. "It's been months now, and nothing. And why must they be down there? They could work safely in any of the rooms closer to us. If what they were doing was really dangerous then they'd have set that scholar on fire by now. We just have to lure the creatures into the lake, is all. Why is it taking them so long to make a calling spell?"

"They have to find the statues, too. They must be scrying." A heavyset man said delicately. The first man shrugged.

"Don't seem to me like they'd need to be in the crypt to do that, neither."

"Is there something down there?"

Elan shook his head, "Sorry, but I've not been down there. It's a long walk, and I promised that fish monster I wouldn't pry."

The bandits again exchanged looks, this time openly speculative. No-one would promise something like that, especially not a self-respecting bandit. Elan must be getting at something. He probably wanted to know, too.

"Don't suppose they'd let you see it? Seems to me like they're loyal to that sailor man still. And now that your wife is... not about, you can't ask her to show you."

Elan steepled his fingers under his chin, watching the surface of the water dancing a few metres above his head. "My wife... yes." He said thoughtfully. "I didn't think of her. Do you think they're friends, her and the scholars, after all those weeks working together?"

This seemed like shaky ground. The men all looked at their feet, wondering what Elan was getting at. They shuffled together their thoughts like a deck of cards- all they knew about Arra, and Keith, and Morgan. They certainly didn't seem to be friendly. They rarely emerged from the crypt to eat, and as soon as they were in the communal hall they all went their separate ways. Morgan would sit with Tyro, Arra would join the women from her clan, and Keith would... annoy whoever was nearby.

If anyone asked them about the research they were doing, Arra would humbly suggest the men would explain it better, Morgan would launch into a lengthy discussion in what the men had privately termed "mage-speak", and Keith would explain in such minute detail that he was only ever asked once. In short, they were all pretty much hopeless.

"Even when she was on the mainland, she never spoke to nobody," one of them said, "And she shot one of them, remember? And the other one is... not so friendly. I figured they're there working, and that's good enough for 'em. They seem busy."

"The mage is friends with Tyro," another chipped in, "He's hardly likely to warm to anyone from our clan, and especially not someone like Arra. Loyal to death, those mountain goats."

"He defends her, though." Again, Elan's voice was slightly distant, as if he was thinking rather than speaking. The men blinked, confused as to which man he was talking about, and just as rapidly as the thought had been spoken it was gone. Their leader smiled brightly, dismissing the comment easily. He changed the subject and they followed the new topic with relief. None of them were really sure what they'd just been talking about.

Elan hardly listened to the conversation after that. The irritation he'd mentioned to the men was completely real- he was just as sick of the screams and hungry for sunlight as the rest of them. But his reasoning was different to theirs, just because he knew his wife better than they did. If she was really working on something, then it must be something important- more important than just saving lives, because he knew that she didn't care about that. Whatever it was, he wanted it. And whatever it was, it was obvious she wanted to keep it away from him. Why else would they work as far away as possible?

He wanted it. He wanted to see. He needed to get them out of the way.

He remembered the confrontation he'd had with Morgan, the thought leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. She wasn't working there alone; whatever the man's reasons were for working there, whether it was because he had authority in Tyro's gang or he was just a better mage, Elan didn't know... whatever the reasons, he was certainly under his wife's murderous thumb. Elan could almost pity the man.

But... their indifference to each other was too feigned, too cold. Anyone working at anything would sometimes get caught up in it, would talk about it in excitement without thinking about the people gossiping around them. Even in the negotiations with the other bandits they'd spoken to each other like that. But every evening when they walked into the communal hall there was nothing there. It was like a candle had just been blown out. No-one else saw the light, so they assumed it was never lit.

Elan could smell the smoke.

He thought of a way... a horrible, delicious way... to get what he wanted. The perfect mixture of a diversion and sweet, beautiful revenge...

888

"Tyro!" The girl who yelled his name sounded shrill, breathless from running across the palace. She skidded to a halt as soon as she saw that it was him, and caught her breath before gulping out the message, "The h-healer, she s-sent me to get yo-ou. It's a 'mergency!"

Tyro sighed and put down the basket of reeds he'd been carrying. This had happened at least once a week since they'd got onto the island. The healer saw him as a kind of address book of all the people living there, and whenever someone fell over and asked for their family, or slept too deeply in the cold, he would be sent for to identify them and fetch their friends. The healer was a strict woman who firmly believed in the authority he didn't have any more, and seemed to think he was a better go-between than Elan. If he realised the person didn't have any family or friends left alive, he was the person who made the decisions the healer refused to make herself.

The girl hopped from foot to foot, still panting, looking up at him expectantly. "She said you'd gimme a copper!"

The man started walking briskly, rooting in his pocket. "Here. What on earth will you do with it, here?"

She shot him a scathing look and bit the coin, and then disappeared down a corridor. The few children who they had with them were usually the hardened street rats whose faces were angelic as their minds were ancient. They were useful as messengers, and they seemed to know the labyrinth of the palace as easily as the neferii. Tyro only knew a few of their names, now- they had disappeared into the maze and reappeared only when they wanted food.

He sighed and kept walking. By now he was so used to the hundreds of stairs that he barely noticed them, but when he was hurrying like this his legs ached a little. By the time he reached the healers' quarters, which were near the trapdoor and fresh air, he was almost as out of breath as the messenger girl. He knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for an answer.

The healer hurried into the outer room, her face half-panicked. "You have to help me. I don't know what to do!" Her reddish hair was too tangled to even hang around her face, and stuck up in clumps as she ran a hand through it. "She's half mad, she won't let me near her! And I asked if she wanted her husband and she screamed so much I thought the roof would fall in, and she said she'd claw my eyes out, and I thought... you know her, and I thought..."

"Emma! Emma, calm down. Who is it?"

"It's Elan's wife- that Arra." The midwife flinched as something in the other room clattered to the floor. "I have to get back to her, gods only know what she's doing now..."

The woman hurried back into the room, prompting a shriek from Arra and another clattering noise as she apparently threw something. Tyro made a sign against evil, shaken to the core. Had she gone mad again? What had started it the first time? Should he warn Emma to stay away from her?

People don't just go mad. The sensible part of his mind said, You think you're so clever? Use your eyes and stop thinking in stories. You know she's your friend. You only think she's a killer.

He stepped through the doorway.

Emma was shouting back at the girl, trying to argue her out of the corner where she was brandishing a comb like it was a dagger, her eyes naked with fear and ringed with a strange redness.

...Daine nearly cried when another monster came into the room. The screaming harpy was bad enough. It kept swooping at her with hands outstretched, ready to grab her. Its face shifted continually, but it shouted at her in the same voice each time. She could hear no words, it was just a wash of anger. She fought it off... she'd been fighting it off for years, and now her arms were tired and her legs felt weak. The other monster would surely swoop in a kill her easily.

It didn't move. It stayed by the door, leaning casually against the doorframe. She blinked the tears out of her eyes, but the world still swam under water. She panicked for a second- how will I breathe? – but then remembered that the glass walls protected them.

The thing near the doorway said something to the harpy, and it turned around and screamed at him instead.

..."Emma, get away from her." Tyro kept his voice quiet, staying as still as he knew how. The woman glared at him.

"And how can I heal her, Master Tyro, if I can't get near her? Have you noticed that she's bleeding?"

"It'd be hard to miss. You're scaring her. She's hallucinating." The man had seen it happen before, to people who smoked strange grasses or drank too much. By the time such people got to the healer they'd normally passed out. Screaming at them just made their paranoia worse. He waited until Emma had sat in a corner, grumbling to herself, before he looked up again. Arra met his gaze, her own eyes rather wobbly as she leaned against the wall. She'd stopped screaming, at least, but her expression was challenging rather than frightened, and the comb was raised as an obvious warning.

"What do you see?" Tyro asked her, his voice still measured. She laughed and tossed back her tangled hair.

"Stormwing, tryin' to trick me," she sniggered at the idea. Tyro shrugged and leaned back against the wall, not speaking, shushing Emma when she tried to. He thought as quickly as he could. He knew he should fetch Morgan- if anyone could calm her down, it would be him- but at the same time, there was so much risk in it. He trusted Emma, but if anyone saw him in this room, or heard Arra screaming... mind you, who knew what she would blurt out in her fever? There was just as much risk for them if he let her stay screaming.

The girl's frightened breathing quietened a little as both the monsters ignored her. Maybe I'm invisible now. She thought. She looked longingly at the pallet bed that she was standing next to. It looked so friendly, so nice. The floor was covered in snakes, but the bed was fine. She was tired- so tired. As long minutes ticked by and the creatures still ignored her, she decided to risk it and climbed up to it.

She watched them again, but her movement had no effect. The harpy didn't look around, and the stormwing merely glanced at her and then looked away.

"We can't let her fall asleep. I don't know what's wrong with her." The healer whispered frantically. Tyro glanced around at the girl, who had curled up as much as she could with her distended stomach, still staring at them suspiciously. She didn't look like she was going to sleep any time soon.

"Is she having the baby?" He asked. "Early, like?"

"Could be, but that ain't the main problem. Babies don't mess with your head like that. Something's set her off- she's sick or drugged or she hit her head. I need to get near her to examine her."

"Are you even a stormwing?" The girl asked loudly, interrupting them both. "You don't walk like a stormwing, and she's more like a horse now I think about it. Horses aren't scary. Why were you pretending to be scary? That's mean."

Tyro stepped closer, relieved when she watched him with more curiosity than fear. Her eyes darted away a few times, as if she was following invisible birds as they flew through the room, but when he was near enough to touch her they centred on him again, wary. When he reached out to her she flinched away, so he stopped dead.

"I'm not a stormwing. I don't have feathers, see?" Tyro stretched his arms out, waiting for her to look. She blinked at him, looking slightly worried.

"Did your wings fall off? You should pick up the feathers. If you cut yourself they'll grow back." She smiled shakily and patted his cheek, frowning at the blood on her hand when she saw it. "Oh... Did I find a feather? Do you want it back?"

"What is she talking about?" Emma whispered out of the side of her mouth. Tyro shook his head, bewildered. The healer shook her own head in reply and repeated what she'd said a scant few minutes before. "I was going to call Elan, but she started screaming, and... I just don't think she wants him here. But she needs someone." Her expression said everything: she knew there was someone else, and she didn't give two figs for the leader of the other tribe. She'd called Tyro because she trusted him, and now she was telling him to trust her.

"Arra?" Tyro snapped his fingers in front of Daine's eyes until she looked at him again. Give her the choice, then. "Arra, do you want me to fetch Morgan?"

Daine watched the wall behind the stormwing's hand. There were snakes burrowing through the walls. They didn't speak to her. They span in circles, like a dance. The stormwing was talking. Her ears told her to listen. "Who's Morgan?" She asked it. It stared at her, not answering. The words roared in her ears like she was underwater. Maybe she hadn't spoken out loud at all. She tried again. "Who's Arra?"

The stormwing looked at the horse, which shrugged and turned into a rabbit. Daine laughed at the sight and wondered what it would do next. Perhaps it would dance with the snakes. The red from the feather had dried on her hands. She flexed her fingers, watching it crack.

Like lightning, a bolt of crippling pain coursed down her body. She curled up tighter and clenched her hands into fists.

"No no no." She whimpered, "I don't want to be a stormwing. Please stop it. Please?"

"That does it. I'm getting Morgan." Tyro left as quickly as he'd arrived, footsteps echoing.

Daine heard it as the sound of drums. Or maybe a heartbeat. It pounded in her ears until the pain was swept away, and then the world was quiet. She frantically tried to hear it again. Is my heart still beating? But I can't check, my hands have turned into wings. I'd cut my own throat. The thought made her want to cry. I can't tell if I'm alive anymore!

She opened her eyes, and the world still looked the same. Full of snakes and strange dancing lights and a hippo with an apron on. Normal enough. She looked at her hands, and they were human. Alive. Covered in red paint. Shaking. Lifting them was difficult. They grew to the size of spades, and shrank into nothing, and decided to be hands again. Well, I'm still alive. Might as well get up, get some work done. Silly to be lazing around, really.

She swung her legs around the bed, frowning at how difficult it was to move when she was stuck-shifted between a Daine and an elephant, and stood up. The hippo gasped in the corner, but hippos always do that. They don't have fingers. When they try to grab you, you can just shake them off.

She looked down at her dress. She couldn't see her feet. Everything was red. "Why am I covered in paint?" she asked. The hippo said something, but all she could hear were echoes, so she scolded it. "Talk proper. I can't hear with my ears."

It said something else.

"Well, 'course you don't know what paint is. You're a hippo." The girl said reasonably. "Rivers are all green and stuff."

The hippo said something else, and turned into a warthog. Daine shook her head sadly. "No, you wouldn't be able to hold a brush."

The healer was relieved when the door swung open. The girl wouldn't stay still. She stood unsteadily, waving her arms through the air and suddenly grabbing at nothing, as if she was catching fireflies. She heard the click of the door, though, and smiled at the two creatures when they stopped short in the doorway. Her manic fear seemed to have turned into playfulness.

"You have to be quiet," She said, "You'll scare them away."

"What's she talking about now?" Tyro asked, out of breath from running. Emma shrugged.

"Hippos, I think."

Daine laughed. "Nooo- you can't scare hippos, silly! They'd squash you, like... squish." She grabbed desperately at the air again, and sighed when whatever it was darted away invisibly. "They're faster when they're scared." She shook her arms out, as if they were aching, and studied the creatures in the doorway. The stormwing was back, but the other one was a human. Strange, for a human to be here. It didn't seem to realise it was in danger, standing so close to the monsters like that. She wanted to help it, protect it.

"You be careful," She told it. "There are feathers on the floor."

"Yes, Tyro told me." The human said carefully, stepping towards her. It was wearing boots. That was a good idea. Her own feet were bare... or her shoes were made of cold stone. She lifted a foot. Not heavy. Bare feet. Stiff, like they had paint on them, too. She took a step back from the human thing when it got closer, shrugging apologetically.

"You'll get paint on you, too. Blue's a nicer colour, but the birds don't like it."

"Paint." This must be a very stupid human. It sounded like he didn't know what paint was! She laughed, and then stopped suddenly as the pain flooded back, a thousand needles sticking into her back and her stomach and legs as if all the feathers in the room had attacked her at once. She couldn't breathe enough to beg them to stop, this time. She couldn't even breathe enough to stand up.

Numair caught her when she swayed and fell, thanking the gods that he'd gotten close enough before it happened. She curled up in his arms like a kitten, her breath catching in pained hitches. "I'm here, sweetling." He said, not even knowing if she could hear him. He looked up at the others, speaking quietly. "How long has she been like this?"

"Lea brought her to me this morning. She thought she just had a fever, but..." Emma shrugged expressively. "I'm more of a midwife than a healer, I'd usually be happy to say, but this is...wrong. And I can't even talk to her. And she won't stay still long enough for me to try and diagnose whatever it is..."

Numair nodded when her voice tailed off. "Don't take this the wrong way," he said, not looking up, "But... how much can I trust you?"

"I'm not going to tell Elan his wife's having an affair, if that's what you think is so important." The woman sniffed, drawing herself up proudly. "I took an oath of confi-denshi-something, and I ain't going to break it."

"You can trust her as much as you trust me," Tyro echoed from his corner. The thought made him smile wanly. "Actually, more. I'm better at keeping secrets than you merit me with, I reckon."

"Fine." Numair used the voice of someone who was thinking rapidly. Before either of the other two people could blink, he sent wards into the corners of the room and slammed the door shut and locked with his gift. Not waiting for them to ask him what the hell he was doing, he turned his attention back to Daine. The pain had passed again but she still had her eyes squeezed tightly shut, as if she could keep it at bay by not looking at it.

"Daine," He said clearly, "Sweetheart, I need you to look at me."

She couldn't have moved faster. Her head snapped around, and her eyes sprang open. "How do you know my name? Give it back!"

"They took mine too, remember?" His voice was reasonable. She stopped mid-sentence and looked at him, confused.

"Did they give it back? I've wanted mine back for soooo loooong, but I wasn't allowed." She leaned forward confidentially. "I think the hippo took them, but now it's turned into a tiger, and I can't talk to it."

"You can have it back if you let the tiger look at you. You have to sit still, though." Emma realised that was her cue, and stepped forward rapidly. Daine studied her for a second, eyes narrowed.

"Your wings are too short to fly with, and your neck's too long. I don't think you're a real animal at all, you liar." She tried to pull away, but the human creature was holding on to her. She cursed at him.

"Maybe it was you that stole my name, human." A sudden switch in mood made her grin and point again at the healer. "You're a shape shifter, aren't you? What are you really? I bet you're a spaniel, with big ears. You've got it wrong. You've got a swan's neck but the rest is all wrong."

The human took a breath to speak to her, and Daine interrupted it again. "I can turn into a kitten. The tabby ones are cuter than the grey ones, aren't they? But whenever I shapeshift my fur is brown. Isn't that odd? Here, I'll show you." She shifted as if to get up, and struggled to free her arms from the human's grip.

"If you move, you'll step on the feathers," the stormwing said bluntly from the corner of the room. Daine stopped, suddenly scared of that awful feather pain coming back, and scared of the strange shape shifted bird.

It was like a nightmare.

The snakes in the walls all stared at her with thousands of glass-like eyes. As she watched, their eyes started to glow white hot, dripping to the floor and oozing towards her, liquid glass snakes trying to burn her. She shrieked at them and buried her face against the human's chest, willing them to go away.

"Well, that's slightly better, I guess." Emma said dubiously. She reached out a hand, glowing gently with yellow light, and gently touched the girl's wrist. Daine sobbed at the touch but didn't move, too scared to move. Numair gently stroked her hair, trying not to think about how much blood she was covered in, or where her mind might be taking her. She must have recognised him on some level; she'd let him near her, for a start.

Long minutes drew past as the healer's yellow light scanned through the girl's body, sometimes lighting up veins and sometimes vanishing altogether. Daine gradually relaxed as the fear subsided, staring frantically around the room again and whispering to herself incomprehensibly, but staying still. Numair prayed to whatever gods might be listening that she didn't take it into her head to shapeshift again. He had no idea how they'd treat a kitten.

"I knew, you know." The steady voice from the corner made the mage jump; he didn't look up at Tyro as he continued speaking, "I knew who she was, and you. I was waiting for one of you to just tell me."

So much for them thinking she was just hallucinating. "Don't feel too left out. We didn't tell anyone."

"Then... why now? Why the warding and the..."

Numair looked around, and Tyro realised the man was on the point of tears. "Not now, Tyro, for Mithros' sake! I can't talk about that now." He looked back down at Daine, who was staring fascinated at a chair as if it had sprouted wings. "She can't be Arra right now. She just can't."

"Who's Arra?" Daine asked, her free hand chasing fireflies. Numair grabbed it and held it still.

"You said you'd be still, remember?" He asked. Daine's forehead creased in thought, and she shook her head. He smiled and brushed her hair from her eyes, then took her hand again. "Well, will you be still anyway?"

She smiled warmly and nodded. "The snakes can't see me here, can they? You're a safe person. Snakes always hiss and argue with each other and stare at you, but their bites hardly hurt at all."

"Were you bitten by a snake?" Numair wondered how one would get on the island, but she was already shaking her head.

"Um, no. But Mammoth said so. And he said they taste like chicken, or maybe fish, I can't remember. Do you think we could cook the ones in the walls? I'm hungry." She tried to sit up, and scowled when he wouldn't let her. "My ma's a mage, you know. She'll turn you into a squirrel if you don't let me go."

"Fine. I've always wanted to be a squirrel."

"Really?" Daine stopped squirming to gape at the idea. "Me too! But ma said it's a bad thing."

"Has she been smoking acri grass or something?" Tyro asked, sitting next to them on the floor. "Usually it's spiders in the walls, not snakes, but..." he caught Numair's eye and looked a bit sheepish. "Er, I've heard people talking about it."

"Spiders wouldn't fit in the walls." Daine didn't seem to be talking to either of them, but followed something's invisible path along the ceiling with her eyes. Numair laughed abruptly, the sound of someone who can only see the absurd.

"Well, there's your answer. Not acri grass, because the spiders are huge."

"No, the walls are tiny." Daine stopped watching the ceiling and stared back at the walls, eyes flicking between a thousand invisible snakes. They dimmed and faded for a moment, bathed in yellow light, and then slithered back.

"I won't argue with you when you're hallucinating, magelet. You'd win too easily."

The yellow light covered her eyes again, and for a few moments she could think again. The snakes still hissed in her ears, but they were no longer creeping towards her. The human who was holding her shifted into focus, and she smiled and tightened her grip on his hand.

"...'thought it was you," she said. And then the yellow light fled, and the pain came flooding back.

The healer drew her hand away with a gasp and caught her breath, forcing her eyes open. She hadn't put up enough defences, and she'd felt a huge amount of that pain. Without thinking about it, she cast a sleeping spell on the poor girl. Let her sleep through it. The spell didn't take until after the wave of pain passed- long minutes of agony- but when it finally did start to work the girl's wild ramblings seemed to calm down.

Daine blinked slowly, and smiled ruefully at Numair. "Why is it called being immortal, when you can still die at the end of it? It's just... slowing things down. Like a wheel, or a... a spinning top. We're all immortal 'til we're dead, right?"

"You're not going to die." The mage wished he believed those words as strongly as he could say them. She smiled vaguely, her eyes staring past him for a moment in a delirious blur, and then she blinked and looked back. For a few seconds, fighting whatever haze it was, she looked bright and lucid.

"Do you know who I am?" Numair asked, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead. She smiled again, straight into his eyes.

"I love you," She said, and drifted into sleep. Her pained breathing gradually calmed, as if she was escaping from her own shell while she dreamed. Even when her hand relaxed in his, Numair didn't let it go.

"That's that." The healer's voice was brisk. "She'll be out for a few hours, hopefully."

"Can you cure her, then?" Tyro asked. Emma scowled at him and folded her arms.

"What do you think I've been doing for the past hour? Playing jacks, I suppose? I know she's been poisoned, but I can't just keep chasing it like this! I have to know what it was, where it settles. If it was henbane, it'd be here," She pressed a cool hand to the girl's forehead, then moved it above her heart. "And belladonna, that'd be here. But at the moment it's a thousand rivers in her blood, and I can't stop them all!"

"Who would poison her?" Tyro whispered, appalled. Numair shot him a scathing look, his own horror at the thought replaced by fury.

"Who do you think? Her damned husband, of course." He stood up and carried her back to the bed, putting her down as gently as he could even as his words filled the room with violent rage. "I'll find out what it is. He has to be near here, it's part of his gods-cursed act."

Tyro looked at him. The man's face was set. Whatever emotions were seething under his skin were hidden by the new sense of purpose. It was a dangerous combination.

"Don't kill him." He said quietly, "It'd start a war."

Numair didn't answer. He held Daine's hand for a moment, and then gently put it down on the bed. He looked up at the healer, who nodded back and smiled reassuringly.

"I'll fend it off 'til you get back. Don't be too long." She said. Numair nodded thankfully and left.

888


	27. Losing Your Mind

Elan wasn't hard to find. He'd been on guard duty that morning, which had degenerated into its usual drinking and chatting with the other men. Nowadays it was always the same men- burly or lithe, but all bursting with loyalty and with the scars of practiced fighters. Their raucous laughter echoed down the tunnels wherever they were, and the mage simply followed it. He didn't have a plan. But when he stepped into the room, Elan looked up with no surprise at all.

"You're out of the caves early, mage mole." One of the men said, looking smug at his wit. His eyes traced over the man's shape, noticing the dark blood that stained his tunic. "Something wrong?"

"I need to talk to Elan." Numair said, his voice measured. "Privately. It's about his wife."

Elan raised an eyebrow, but there was absolutely no curiosity on his face. He already knew. Of course he did. What was it? A few seeds in a water skin? A powder dusted onto bread? He stood up in one smooth movement and walked towards the doorway. The men stood up to follow him at a discrete distance.

Numair sent out one burst of power with barely a thought, pushing the air towards them like the force from an explosion. The silent concussion knocked them off their feet and to the floor where they stayed, stunned and breathless. Elan blinked and reached for his knife. Numair spun around so rapidly the man barely had time to gasp before he was pressed against the wall, a hand pressed painfully against his throat. Elan's eyes flickered with fear briefly when he felt the cold glint of a dagger against his neck, and then spread his palms in a gesture of surrender, dropping the knife.

"You can't kill me." He croaked, "The whole island would fight you."

"Don't you dare speak." Numair's voice was dangerous. "Right now... do I look like I care about that?" The knife pressed closer, drawing drops which brightened the air like copper. Elan lowered his own hands, careful to keep them away from his other knife. That move would be his last.

"What. Did. You. Do?" Every word fell heavily into place. The black eyes burned with rage. Elan gulped and half choked until the pressure on his throat was let up enough to let him speak. He slid to the floor, the knife following him down like burning ice.

"You poisoned her. What was it?" The knife shook against his throat, as if the hand holding it was struggling with itself. Elan felt genuine fear then, realising that the only reason he was still alive was because he knew something. This man was prepared to sacrifice all the months he'd spent on the island making peace just for that one answer.

And Elan... hadn't Elan risked as much? A mind consumed with anger is a mind without shields, and he could see into this man's thoughts as clearly as his own. He'd expected a diversion- the man too worried to concentrate, or torn away for an hour or so. But this- this was amazing!

Unbelievably, Elan started to laugh. He heard the hysterical sound as if it was someone else. He painted out the transparent thoughts in vibrant daylight.

"You really do love her, don't you? Sneaking out at night and talking to fish, but she was talking to you, wasn't she?" He rolled his eyes in self-mockery. "Gods, how did I not see it? You're the black mage, aren't you? When did you start trailing after the wild mage like one of her dogs?" He laughed again, choking on his sore throat and the sick humour of it. When he could breathe again, all the humour had drowned. He looked up, his own eyes sparking with furious bravado.

"She deserves to die. That bitch. And you. You both should burn in the black god's fires, and her puling brat spawn with you." He gathered enough moisture in his aching throat to spit on the floor, and then stared up contemptuously. "Women die in labour all the time. Who says I did anything? But if you cut my throat, they'll know it was you."

Numair crouched down next to him, keeping the knife at his throat, his eyes empty and cold. "I seem to have given you the wrong idea. I don't intent to cut your throat." He spun the knife idly around, keeping the point against Elan's skin. "See, you're right about me. I'm the black mage. But you're too stupid to realise what that means. If I wanted to kill you, no-one would know how you died. I could be very, very creative and not leave a mark." The knife stopped moving, not even shaking this time. "And I do want to kill you."

All the blood drained from the bandit's face, making his eyes stark and frightened as he stared back. The mage's expression told him everything; he didn't need to read his mind to know that what he was saying was the absolute truth.

All Elan's worst nightmares, all the horror stories about mad mages sped through his mind. He tried to open his mouth, to speak, but for the first time his words failed him. Numair smiled humourlessly and carried on speaking.

"Your life isn't worth two coppers next to hers. So if you tell me what poison you used, I'll let you live. For now."

Elan made a garbled sound, and then desperately tried to make it into a word. A name. The name of the plant. Don't lie, don't lie, don't let him boil your eyes from their sockets and your blood in your veins. Don't let your bones turn into splinters of rusted metal. He squeezed his eyes shut and spat out the word.

"Moonflower! I tuh-took it from the huh-healer's box." He opened one eye long enough to see the look of pure loathing the mage gave him, before a heavy weight crashed into his head. The darkness danced with him, but he kept his mind awake. As soon as the mage had left, he stood up and ran shakily out of the room, staggering for the first few steps. There was much to do.

888

"Dear Shakith!" Keith yelped, "Are you alright, sir? You're covered in blood!"

Elan winced and touched his head, where the coppery redness was starting to feel tacky. His hair felt too heavy, but the pain was down to a numb aching. "I'm fine," He said curtly. "Is this where you've been experimenting?"

He didn't need to see the scholar's nod; he knew that it was. The room's opulence spoke loudly; more ornate than any other room in the palace, here the green light had a colder blue tint. When he looked through the doorway he saw that this was due to the pool of water that filled half of the floor. Its reflected light was strangely silvery; the pool was lined with mirror bright metal and threw back no colours but white and blues, even though the torchlight burning around it was orange. The green light from the lake outside didn't dare creep past the tiled borders of the pool, but lingered outside it in a murky haze. Walking through the room was like walking through a stained glass window, or stepping inside a coldly reflective cat eye into the knowledge that lay beyond.

For this room was full of knowledge, as cloyingly thick in the air as the light, and as slow moving as the waters which lapped, without tide or current, against their ceramic shores. Elan smiled without knowing it and stepped forward. No wonder they lingered in here, drinking in this light of learning like the water that flowed so sweetly at their feet and flowered into stone. No wonder they hid it away from the others for so long. No wonder they had tried to kill him. It wasn't out of anger or anything as sickening as love, it was for daring to challenge them.

The voices of knowledge spoke into his mind as seductively as the sensuous curves of water caressing the tiles near his feet. He stood still and listened with his ears and his mind and his whole being. This was not just magic, this was the voice of gods. This was the song that sirens sang to sailors, and the love that drove them to the crushing rocks. A hearing that went beyond his ears, and speaking that was softer than his sight... he was captivated by it.

"Sir," the tentative voice broke into the silence, and he was suddenly angry. Furious. He rounded on the mortal, the one who would try to steal this beautiful song from him. The man wrung his hands at the expression but babbled on, each word shattering the silence into shards. "Sir, what are you doing here?"

"You... you! You tried to keep this from me! You knew I would be able to understand, you..!" Elan hissed, barely hearing his own words. His hand clawed at his own ears, as if by scratching away their shells they could hear more clearly. He span away from Keith, still talking furiously. "You and that mage and that whore, all in it together, and I'm glad she's dead, and you soon to follow!"

"Dead?" Keith whispered the word, but again it was too loud! There should be no voice but the water, the magic, the gods, the sea, the listener... and as Elan spun around to scream at the man for being so loud, he heard the chime of metal. But the man did not strike him with the brazier he held in trembling fists. He stared with frightened eyes, as if he could change the immortal knowledge of the gods with his pitiable opinions.

"Did you kill my friends?" Keith's voice trembled, and as soon as Elan's mouth split into a manic grin he yelled and swung the brazier, as hard as he could. Elan caught it with one hand, feeling the strength of the ages in his arm and the laughter of death in his throat.

The blue light... the blue light swam with the green, and the glass like room swam under the watery light. The light that shifted over hands and features, making them blue and green and grey even as the skin beneath turned white with fear. The light that played tricks with the eyes, making fingers seem elongated and nails look like silver claws.

The light that danced with a thousand tiny crystals as, laughing, the knowledge of the gods threw the scholar into the pool. They hung suspended in the air for a single breath, long enough to scream, long enough to cackle wildly, long enough to leap after the mortal with legs that were stronger than the moon-fed tide.

A thousand tiny crystals danced in the air as the elongated hands dragged the mortal under the water, and held him there.

A bubble broke the surface.

Another bubble, the whisper of a plea within it.

Elan paid no attention. The silence had returned, and soon even these gentle sounds would stop and he could listen to the song.


	28. Chapter 28

Weeping. Someone was desperately sad. Or frightened. It span through the darkness like a silver thread, glistening with fluid tears and shining with the brightness of a child's voice. The darkness did not swallow it, although it twisted and squirmed as if it wanted to hide. It called to her, and she followed it. The magpies did not steal the silver of this trail, and no river washed over the tracks like in the fairy stories her ma had told her. She simply followed it. If anything slowed her down it was her own weariness. But she set her chin obstinately, refusing to give in to the darkness which was bullying this bright, slender thread. The weeping grew clearer as the thread grew thinner and thinner, until the rope that ran through her fingers like soft silk became a thread, and then a cobweb, and as she reached the surface it snapped in a shower of silver rain.

"Something's wrong," she said, the weeping still in her mind even as she blinked slowly against the bright candlelight in the room. Before her eyes could even adjust properly, she was engulfed in a smothering, close hug.

"Gahhh! Gettoff, you're squashing me!" She croaked. Numair let her go, smiling broadly, his eyes still lined with worry. Before she could ask him what he was so damn worried about- or happy about, come to think of it- he made a shushing motion.

"You have to answer carefully, Daine, it's important," he said seriously. With one hand he pointed to the left, where a woman was hovering nervously. "Does that woman, in any way, resemble a hippo?"

Daine stared at him flatly and gave the woman a long stare. She was the same healer who'd looked after her when she'd nearly drowned: dumpy and red-headed. Her hands were knotted together in front of her, the nails bitten. The girl looked back at Numair, utterly bewildered by the question and how seriously he was taking it.

"What are you talking about?" She demanded. He grinned and kissed her cheek rapidly.

"You're a lot better, then." He told her, shifting so she could lean in the crook of his arm. "You were hallucinating for a while, there."

Daine was about to ask why when the healer interrupted, her voice tired. She took the girl's arm in one hand and checked her pulse, not using her gift. "How are you even awake, Daine? You were supposed to sleep a lot longer."

"Why?" Daine asked, and then stopped abruptly as she remembered what had woken her up. The weeping was nearly gone, but was still quietly unsettling at the back of her mind. "That's right- something's wrong!"

"You're having the baby," The healer said, as if that explained everything. The girl hesitated for a moment, looking down at her stomach and blanching when she saw the dried blood that she was covered in. Every part of her that was her ma's daughter yelled at her to ignore the immortals, to work out whatever had made her haemorrhage like that and why it was now, too soon, too early for the baby to be safe. The heat of panic made her heart race, but her hands felt icy. She wished she could remember what had happened, why she wasn't strong enough to deal with this. Her mind was completely blank, as if she'd blinked after eating her breakfast and opened her eyes in a different place without taking a single step. But she felt like she'd run for miles. If Numair had let go of her, she didn't know if she'd even be able to stay sitting up. What had happened?

The other part of her mind- the Arra part, the one who was playing this stupid game- drew her attention away. She decided to store this new information into whatever pile of unanswered questions she was saving up and carried on with the important details. Panicking wouldn't help anything.

"Not that, ma'am!" She looked from the healer up to Numair, trying to get him to understand how serious this was. "The immortals- the Neferii, in the lake. They're all frightened. They're calling me."

"You can't..." the healer started, and stopped as the girl turned her gaze on her, almost hostile through the fear.

"I know I can't, ma'am. That'd be why I'm telling him. If the mer-folk are scared, it'll be something much worse than a baby coming that set them off. And I plain refuse to have a baby at all if some boogieman is just going to waltz in here and eat it." She cut off her sentence sharply, some memories of the hallucination racing back with the pain that throbbed in the small of her back and stopped her breath.

"I'm pretty sure the baby has other plans, sweetling." Numair said, his voice a strange mixture of amusement and concern. She gritted her teeth until the pain went away and then caught her breath.

"...very funny." She looked up at him, her grey eyes bright and curious. "You'll have to tell me what's wrong. They don't have words, just fear. What... what happened? What's different?"

The other two exchanged glances, and as one they both shrugged. "Everything seems pretty normal, really." The healer said, "Apart from the whole 'hallucinating girl with a secret name who just happens to be able to hear immortals with her brain'... thing."

"It's not me." Daine looked uncomfortable. "They don't care about me. They wouldn't be scared for me, and they don't think like that anyway. They're only calling me because I'm the only one who can hear them."

"It could be linked to you, though." Numair said thoughtfully, absently stroking the girl's hair. "Like Emma said, it is the only thing that's really different. Maybe they didn't like the idea of someone being poisoned on their sacred land..."

Daine blinked and half pulled away. "Poisoned?" the movement made her head spin, and she leaned back again helplessly. "I thought I'd hit my head or something! Did one of the streams get contaminated? Is anyone else sick?"

"No." The man didn't seem to want to talk about it, but after a few seconds' determined glaring from the girl he looked away and said, "Elan put moonflower into your food."

"He did what?" Daine half shrieked the last word, and grabbed desperately for Numair. "Why would he do that?"

This wasn't a question the mage was expecting. He looked confused. "Because he's a murderous swine who... doesn't like you?"

"It makes no sense." She let go and fell back, looking even whiter. "He only does things for a proper reason. There has to be something."

"But the only thing that would interest him is..." This time it was Numair's turn to turn pale. "Dear Mithros, do you think he's after the spell?"

"What spell?" Emma sounded totally lost, "I know he wanted to find out what you were working on, but he's not a mage. How could he steal a spell?"

"It's a...a sensitive spell, in the castle. We don't know what sets it off, so we've been keeping people away from it." Daine looked like she was thinking rapidly, her head slightly tilted as if she was listening to something.

"Elan's made sure that neither of us are there." Numair said quietly. Daine glanced up and abruptly pulled away from him, rubbing her temples. The voices were growing more insistent, but they were still just a wordless cry. Their fear was as icy as liquid metal, seeping into her ears and her nerves with the sound of shattering glass. Next to that, her own fears were pathetic.

"The Neferii weren't scared until... just now. If it is the spell, then he must have some way of setting it off. You have to stop him." Daine clutched at her forehead as the immortals screamed their fear, even louder, ever sharper. Even without words, the threat was terrifying. "He could kill everyone! He could..." she stopped abruptly and caught her breath, hands twitching around her stomach.

"I'm not leaving you," he said stubbornly when the contraction had passed. She glared at him, trying to get her breath back.

"Forgive me, but you are. The only reason we're here in the first place is because of that spell, and if you let him mess it up I'll never forgive you." She smiled suddenly, taking the sting off her sentence. "Although... if you want to swap and have this baby instead, it'd be fine by me."

"Daine, there's nothing I can do if he's already down there. I can't use magic in the crypt. It might set off the spell, or make it worse. I still don't know what it does, remember!"

"Then take a sword with you. Or a knife. Or a big stick, I don't care." Daine laughed abruptly and reached up, trailing her fingertips along his face, around the worried eyes. "You're being very sweet and caring and so very, very stubborn. If you were thinking straight you'd go. And it'll be more interesting than watching me sleep for the next hour, I promise. Because that's exactly what I'm going to do; I can hardly keep my eyes open. I'll be fine, and I'll be here when you get back."

Numair looked around at the healer, his expression questioning. Daine glared at Emma from behind his back until the woman nodded, mentally dismissing the lie. If the girl wanted her lover out of the room for whatever reason then he should probably go. Emma averted her eyes when they kissed each other goodbye, as tenderly as a first kiss would be, and waited until the man had left the room before she took a handkerchief to the girl. The brightness in her eyes had turned to tears as soon as she knew Numair couldn't see them. Emma didn't know if they were tears of pain or fear, but she thought Daine should wipe her eyes.

"You're a very good liar," Emma said when the tears had stopped. The girl made a choking sound that might have been a laugh and rolled awkwardly onto her side so she could look at the healer. Even though her voice was tired and wan, her words were eerily matter-of-fact.

"My ma was a midwife. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I know it's bad. An' I don't know how much of your gift you've used, but you look fair tired. So I'm guessing a lot. So it's been bad for a while. An' I don't know how Numair was here, or how you know about us, but there's no way I'm letting him sit here watching me die."

"You're not..." the healer started, and then bit her tongue when she saw the raw honesty in the girl's eyes. She flushed. It was hard to be soothing when someone knows you're lying. She amended her statement to what she hoped was the truth, "With the gods' help, you might live through it."

Daine smiled, the expression not meeting her eyes. "Whatever you say," she said dismissively, her eyes sliding shut. "I'm going to sleep. You should too. I'm thinking rest will mean more than blessings."

888 __

_There was a lady, long ago_

_Who wished for skin as white as snow_

_Her hair as dark as crow's black head_

_Her lips a luscious ruby red..._

The song was weak in the reflective corridors, as if it was being sung underwater. Numair barely heard it until the words were clear, and then when he could hear them he ignored them. His thoughts were muddled, confused between worrying about Daine and wondering what he would find in the crypt. He was furious with himself for not killing Elan when he had the chance. The man had been gone when he got back to the room where they'd confronted each other, although the bodyguards were still there, sleeping.  
 _  
A common maid, but rich to wed_

_So tradesman took the maid to bed_

_Thru' marriage dull she yearned to know_

_-What if my skin was white as snow?_

The corridor stopped abruptly, closed off by a wall of shifting glass. Numair's eyes narrowed as he walked towards it, holding a palm parallel to it an inch or so away. The stuff was definitely magical, but other than that he couldn't tell what it was. It looked like solid water or molten ice, shifting and liquid but somehow solid. He could feel no danger from it, but then he had no idea what it was. He touched a fingertip to it, and suddenly remembered how angry it made him whenever Daine did exactly that with strange spells. He supposed he just wasn't used to not being able to identify something. When he took his finger away the memory faded.

Was that what it did? Recalled memories? Well, that wasn't so bad. He needed to get past it, that was all. He stepped into the shifting air and...  
 _  
This was not Tariro. This was Tortall. A small part of his mind knew that he wasn't truly there, but the thought faded. Tariro was a bad dream in the future. This was in the year before it, in the scarlet hours of autumn. It was a memory, Numair guessed, as solid as a reality, but just a memory. And then even that awareness faded, and it really was a year ago, and it really was autumn. The air was sweet with the fresh winds that cooled the summer heat, playing over the sun-baked stones of the castle and drawing up the odd scent of hot stone. The gardens were full of withered flowers, half-dead from the heat, and the fruit trees had dropped their final burden onto the ground where it rotted among lazy wasps. The breeze was welcome. True, it brought a fine dust with it, but after the cloying heat of the late summer any breeze was welcome._

_He'd come up to the castle wall again, knowing the breeze was there and welcoming it like a shock of cold water to the skin. The other Tortallans were celebrating the end of the war even a week after that final fight, but the determined practicality of the royal family was enough that they were already setting up new defences, working on plans to rid the Royal Forest of spidren, and generally keeping everyone else busy. The small moments in each day when they weren't busy were usually spent in the hall. Every day more knights would arrive at the castle, finally able to relax their strict defences and have fun. Every day, the knights and nobles expected to hear the stories of victory again. Between helping with the defences and being summoned by aristocrats for tedious speeches of thanks, Numair and Daine only had a scant few minutes each day to spend with each other, but it was those few minutes that had driven Numair up to the battlements._

_The first times that they'd kissed had been laced with fire, fed by the danger they were in and the sickening constant threat of losing each other. Now their embraces were mixed with the heady thrill of victory, and the soft sweetness of a new love. Perhaps if they'd stayed as simple kisses Numair might have kept his self-control in check, but they were darkening into something richer and more dangerous, and without realising he was doing it he was letting them both drag each other under._

_Yesterday had found them in the alcove of one of the archers' windows, stealing a few minutes away from any prying eyes that might walk past. Daine's eyes were soft when they shared a single sweet kiss, but definitely mischievous when she slipped a hand inside his shirt, tracing the contours with maddening delicacy. He should have stopped then, he should have told her to stop, but by the time he'd decided that he was kissing her again, his own hand drawing up her tunic and finding the sweet curves that lay beneath. She shivered at the touch, mirroring everything he did against his own skin until both of them were breathing raggedly. It was only when she moved her hand away to unfasten his shirt that Numair could think clearly enough to pull away._

_"No," he said gently, taking her hands between his. "We still haven't talked about this."_

_She blinked at him, her eyes bewitchingly dark. "So? Talk."_

_He laughed, still out of breath. "Sweetling, I can hardly even think like this, let alone talk. And you're not much better."_

_The girl leaned forward to kiss his cheek, only managing to brush the stubble there as he breathed in sharply and pulled away from her, still keeping her hands still. Daine looked away and then laughed shortly, a slightly embarrassed flush rising on her cheeks._

_"I don't want to think at all. But if you want to, go ahead." She pulled her hands away from his and straightened her clothes. Before he could think to stop her, she'd slipped out of the window-seat and disappeared down the corridor._

_And that was when he'd decided to walk around the battlements. The cool wind really wasn't cold enough._

_He thought his eyes had adjusted to the light badly when he got back to his room after his next day's work; the place seemed dimmer. It took him a second to realise that it was because Daine was there, sitting in the window bay near an open panel, easily chatting to some of the magpies that lived in the tower stonework. It was unusual for her to be in this room on her own, and the birds were taking full advantage of that to tell her a long story, involving lots of mocking chatter and wing-shrugs. She laughed at the story, but sobered quickly when she heard the door click closed. The birds scattered, startled, but she smiled a greeting quite serenely._

_"I worked out what's wrong, so I decided to wait here." she said, swinging her legs absently. "I realised you don't believe I've thought about this. And we haven't had time to talk, because it's always the wrong moment or you think that being kissed stops me from thinking clearly, or something." She looked up, and her expression was sharply discerning. "Or is it that you think I'm too innocent to know what I'm doing? Too young? Too naive?"_

_He'd hurt her feelings, he could tell that from the defensive way she inflected her words. Without really thinking about it, he sat next to her so he could hold her hand. She stared at their hands, her chin set stubbornly as the man began to speak._

_"I just don't want you to do something you might regret." He said quietly. "I'd rather you take the time to think about it, than rush into something just because it feels right."_

_"Well, I have thought about it." She raised her head, almost defiant. "That's why I'm here. I wanted to show you something." She pulled her hand away from his abruptly and took something out of her belt-purse. Whatever it was, it was hidden in her hand for a second as she stared at it, biting her lip, before she handed it to him._

_The charm was tiny, carved from a scrap of bone with a single black silk thread threaded through it. It was small enough to be easily hidden, and the edges were smoothed away, proving it wasn't new. Numair didn't need to test it with his Gift to know that it was real. He raised an eyebrow and handed it back to her._

_"How long have you had that?" He chose his words carefully, seeing how shyly she took the thing back._

_"Since Carthak," she said simply. "Alanna helped me find it after Ozorne... after I was kidnapped. He didn't do anything, but... but there's really nothing like being kidnapped to make you feel vulnerable. This made me feel safer."_

_"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, stricken. She shrugged awkwardly._

_"We were fighting a war. I didn't want you to think I was frightened of something as... as unlikely as that, when there were real things to worry about. And I didn't know if I wanted you to know." She smiled suddenly, aware that she was blushing furiously. "And it's kind of personal, isn't it? But I thought it would prove that I'm not as thoughtless as you think I am."_

_"I don't think you're thoughtless; it's different..." he started, and stopped when she smiled again. Something about that expression was infectious, and he found himself smiling back._

_"I know it's different, you've told me that enough times!" She brushed his hair off his forehead gently, her fingertips lingering. "And yes, you're right- I might not know what I'm doing, but I want to learn. Can't you see that you're protecting me from something that I have no desire to be protected from? We've been through so much together, things we didn't choose. If there are consequences of this then at least we can choose to face them together."_

_All traces of anger, embarrassment and playfulness fell from her eyes, until all that was left was the simple truth. "I don't care about our ages, or how people will look at us, or what might happen in the future. I love you. I truly do. And I thought that would be enough. But if you want me to go away and think some more, then I will." She sat back and watched him, her bright grey eyes direct as she waited for him to speak._

_Instead of talking, it seemed more sensible to kiss her. Her bright gaze gradually fluttered shut as she returned the kiss, lost in the warmth and love that they shared, which became more passionate as every word Numair had insisted they talk about fell away. When the man broke away abruptly and stood up she couldn't stop her eyes from looking beseeching. He smiled back, his own eyes as lost as hers._

_"I think we should lock the door," he said lightly. He took three steps forward, and..._

...and the water drifted from his eyes, fragmenting into a fine mist. Tariro. He could hear someone laughing. It wasn't autumn, it wasn't his room, and the voice definitely wasn't Daine's. Yes, he remembered. She was here, but hundreds of stairs above him, soaked in blood and facing her consequences completely alone, all because of her hag-damned husband. As if hearing his thoughts, the voice stopped the gurgling laugh that echoed along the corridors, and continued singing the same song he'd heard a few minutes and a lifetime ago.  
 _  
And as the lass grew large with child_

_Her white-eyed fancies grew more wild:_

_-A thousand jewels would crown my head_

_If but my lips would bloom more red_

Numair shook his head, wanting to clear the after-images away. It had been more than a memory, more than a dream, and entirely unnatural. He wondered if the strange watery air just made you recall a moment in your life perfectly, or if that particular memory had been dragged out of his mind for a reason. The thought made him feel cold with anger. The idea that someone else could just pull something as private as that memory in front of his eyes was sickening, invasive. Reading a mind was one thing, but when you could feel the soft touch of each fingertip, hear the gentle breathing and smell the late autumn roses in the air, it wasn't just reading, it was re-living. No-one else had any right to live his memories. He shielded his mind as strongly as he could, not knowing if it would work. Whatever could pull that memory from his mind so vibrantly could probably break a shield.  
 _  
Alas, her baby turned too fast_

_And dreaming maid, she breathed her last_

_And lay upon her pallet bed_

_Bathed in ruby birthing red  
_  
He wished the singer would stop. The words echoed but were clear, each one inflected with cruel laughter, each verse ending with a snigger which seemed to overlap the tune. He had no doubt it was meant for him as he walked through the corridors. The air grew thicker with each step, the magic in the air almost palpable, but somehow wild and untamed. It was exactly the same atmosphere that the Johi created: a web of magic that they could dance through like spiders. He knew he was here to confront Elan, but with a sinking feeling he realised that whatever was lurking in the crypt, it was no longer human. He didn't know what had happened to Keith, either, but with the dark danger lapping at the walls and the dead water pushing from the other side, he had very little hope that the man was still alive.  
 _  
Her hair hung lank and dark as tar_

_Her eyes stared blank at jewels afar_

_She smiles! Ah maiden, did you know:_

_In death, your skin turned white as snow?  
_  
And still the voice was mocking him. This tune was too happy, sung with too much glee, and it set his teeth on edge. The voice, fragmented and rotten, distilled through long tunnels of glass and magic, was still recognisably Elan's.  
 _  
Her husband took the babe in life_

_And swore his love for his dead wife_

_And promised snow white looks as grand_

_As mother wore to black god's land._

The song finished with an imperfect cadence, the song decaying as the voice shrivelled into a cackling laugh. It didn't echo anymore; the sound was close, as if the singer was in the next room. Numair steeled himself, not knowing what had happened to Keith, trying to suppress the burning rage that the stupid song made him feel, and turned the corner. No point trying to hide; the singer knew he was there already.

The creature was suspended in the air, almost motionless, and 'creature' was the only word that could possibly describe it. It wasn't a being, for it didn't appear physical enough. Where a living being would have lines of skin stopping its fingers at the nails and each limb at the joint, this creature was a mess of fractured joints and broken flesh. It oozed from each scar, not really bleeding but draining into the pool beneath it. The liquid gathered on the surface of the water like oil, thick and putrid. It stank of decay and burning sugar and fish and water and a thousand other toxic smells.

When it drifted into the light, drawn by what seemed to be the natural air currents in the room, Numair could see that the wounds on its skin were not where it had been attacked. It was as if the bones and muscles had stretched faster than the human shell could contain them, and where the skin had not surrendered and stretched the bones had simply torn through it like paper. In the larger joints and on its torso, the gleam of bones shone through like lustrous turquoise in the subterranean light. It was naked; fragments of cloth scattered around the room showed that they had burst at their seams just like the creature's own flesh.

If these inhuman features weren't sickening enough, the expression that lingered on the mutilated skull was utterly unspeakable. Through all its transformation, for all the naked nerves that must be screaming at it, the creature was grinning. The eyes were narrowed to slits, as if they were simply sliced into the face by a sharp knife, while the jaws gaped and dripped into the liquid air. And it was laughing.

"There's a chorus as well, black mage." It hissed, lips barely meeting enough to form the 'm' sound. "Do you want to hear it? I know all the words."

"You're singing nursery rhymes?" Numair hid his disgust- he knew exactly how the creature was mocking him, and the laughter that had laced through the macabre lyric made him tighten his hand around the knife he carried.

"I gave you back a happy memory, black mage. Don't tell me you're not grateful. Don't tell me I've spoiled it for you," Black flecks of blood sprayed from its mouth as it gurgled a laugh, drawn from the gashes left by the sharpened teeth. "These Nefer creatures know all their stories, but they don't see how much power they can have, just by putting two stories together. It's like pouring salt in a wound."

The bleeding shell held up his hands, twisting them gracefully in the half light, one at a time, as he spoke. "On one hand, there's a beautiful young woman showing her seducer just how much she loves him. On the other hand, your latest memory of her, dying slowly...painfully... from the seed you planted. Action. Consequence." The creature clapped his hands together suddenly, the elegant fingers curling around like spider legs tangling in a web. The silver claws drew silver blue blood. "And now they're both right next to each other in your mind, right where they should be, without time getting in the way and spoiling the guilt that you should be feeling."

"Where's Keith?" Numair asked quietly, not giving the creature a reaction. It drew itself up, the action making it move slightly in its invisible current. If anything, the question seemed to have confused it. It looked around until it saw the poor crumpled shell that still lay in the pool, stained by the oily blood. The man followed its gaze, his own expression hardening at the sight, but he didn't move towards the body. Whether Keith was dead or alive, there was no way the creature would let him near it.

"What are you?" He asked instead, wondering if it remembered being Elan. The creature moved its head slowly, as if through syrup.

"There... is a memory in your head." He tilted his head to one side, a thick tendril of blood draining from one ear as he thought. "A stormwing can grant a feather, and then a man can become an immortal. Then, another memory... the creatures guard the lake, because it is sacred, but this water is the pure water of immortality. Another memory: Your mother told you stories of the fountain of youth, the water that helps you live forever." He raised a hand and smiled slowly as he flexed the hand, watching the light gleam from the silver claws. "I am becoming an immortal. But I am more than they are. They have to be told the stories. I can just... take them."

"You're a monster." Numair told it levelly. The creature looked at him sharply, and hissed a laugh through bleeding teeth.

"Ah, little mage, are you sure? After all, you already have more monsters in your memories than you can fight off." He gurgled, three fingers tracing a shape in the air. Silver magic flickered and died around the claws, and then abruptly flared. The air was suddenly thick with water, like a thousand waterfalls were pouring from the roof. Each one betrayed the gleam of eyes: a hurrock, a knight in rusted armour, a ragged man whose fingers burned with the yellow sickness of a corrupted gift, and many more. Numair recognised each one, each memory, as they all screamed their battle cries and attacked.

They're just memories, he thought grimly, but ducked as a sword swept over his head. Just memories, but I can remember every wound they gave me. I can remember pain. They can hurt me.

He heard Elan laughing again as the circle of solid memories closed in on him.

888


	29. Losing Your Memories

This is how you can tell that you're dreaming: You understand. Not just the things that are said, but the world around you. If there is anything that you think needs to change, you understand what you have to do to change it. If you need to run away, you know the best route to take. You know exactly where to hide when you're being hunted. You know exactly what to say, to be forgiven or loved or hated. Things make sense in a way that the real world never can.

This is how Daine could tell she was not dreaming: there was an oystercatcher in the room. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten here, (wherever here was,) or even if she'd fallen asleep, but she knew that there shouldn't be an oystercatcher here. Even asleep, her mind was stubbornly insisting that it would never dream up a coastal bird inside a cave. She guessed that, since she'd realised it was so irrational, she wasn't hallucinating either. Having decided that, her dreaming mind tried to turn over and go back to sleep.

-No.- Daine said, recognising the half-sleep that that gods could cast, -What are you?-

The bird looked at her brightly, ruffling its wings and preening with its needle-like beak, but it didn't answer. The girl scowled at it and folded her arms, willing to wait it out.

-I won't leave here until you tell me what... where here is, for a start.- The bird didn't blink, but she could almost feel its stubbornness matching her own. –And I'd prefer you tell me sharpish, I'm a bit busy at the moment. I'm having a baby, you know.-

The bird blinked then, a sudden shutter of light slicing through the blackness of its eye. Daine bit her lip and looked down, worried that her dream-self was too light and slender. –That's right, I'm having a baby. Where is it?-

The bird peeped shrilly and took wing, flying away. Daine ran after it, too light on her feet, calling it. It led her through familiar hallways, down steps, and she realised she was still in the underwater palace. The place seemed nearly deserted, but the crypt had the warm scent of life after the cold stone. The bird stopped and peeped again, not venturing into the crypt but looking at her expectantly. She peered around the doorway. She watched the scene in there for a second, and then looked back at the bird.

-Is that really happening?- she asked. The bird tilted its head to one side. Daine sighed and looked back around the door. –Yes, of course it is. But are you sure? I remember killing at least three of the things in there myself.-

In fact, she thought when she looked again, the only thing that I don't remember is the creature at the back, the one that's covered in silver fire. I don't recognise that one at all.

The other creatures all showed traces of the silver fire, even the human ones, but none of them burned as brightly as that one. She guessed it was in charge, or at least a more powerful foe than the others. She ached to help, to fight them- their attacks were so predictable that, blow for blow, they were exactly the same as they had been when they were killed- but even leaning against the doorframe proved that she was no more substantial than air. It shifted under her weight like treacle, and dumped her unceremoniously on the floor.

The oystercatcher made a sound almost like a laugh, but when she climbed to her feet and spun around to glare at it the bird had vanished. In its place was a man, leaning nonchalantly against the glass wall, a mocking smirk still on his face as he watched her.

"I thought it was you." Daine said evenly, "Am I dead, then?"

"Not yet." Kyprioth stretched lazily as he stood upright, taking his time. Daine glared at him and put her hands on her hips.

"Then will you please take me back to my body, sir? I can't do anything here."

"If I'd known that child was going to distract you like this, I'd've left it in the lake." The god said absently, strolling up to the door to peer through. He ignored the girl's infuriated sound and beckoned her back towards the crypt, his eyes fascinated. "Look, this is fantastic. He's used the sight to read the mage's memories, and he's used the Neferii's perfect recall to recreate them exactly as they were. It's against the rules, of course, but what a brilliant way to break them!" He glanced around, realised that the girl wasn't watching the room, and a petulant frown appeared on his face. "I thought I told you to look, girl."

Daine folded her arms obstinately. "Why? You're just showing off, and I've seen you do that before."

"My my, you are in a sour mood." Kyprioth's voice was light, but his eyes glittered dangerously. "Ah well. You'll just have to work from memory, then, won't you?" He fluttered his fingers at her in a mocking wave of goodbye, and turned back to the doorway.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Daine realised her voice was less stubborn and more slurred as a wave of weariness crashed over her. She raised a hand to yawn, and it caught in the blanket she was wrapped in. She wasn't in the hallway at all, she was lying in the healer's bed on her side. Her other hand had pins and needles from where she'd cradled her head on it, and she shook it out impatiently.

Sleeping seemed to have done a lot of good, or perhaps Kyprioth had done something. It would be like him to prove that a blessing was worth more than sleep, just so he could prove her wrong. The healer was still napping in a chair near the fire, but Daine felt wide awake. And she was back in her body. She could help Numair!

When she moved to sit up her body reminded her just why that was a bad idea. The poison had made the contractions more painful, but when it was healed they had calmed down for long enough to let her sleep. Or perhaps it was a side-effect of the sleeping spell Emma had cast. Either way, now that she was awake there was no getting away from the fact that she was in labour. And right now, that prospect just felt like long tedious hours stuck here, when she should be in the crypt helping Numair.

Helping... Kyprioth had wanted her to do something. Work from memory. What did he mean? He'd said that the creature in the crypt was breaking the rules even as he applauded its ingenuity. She remembered the creature- a massively tall being, bathed in silver light. It was controlling the memory shadows, right?

Numair's fighting off memories? But they never go away. She thought, How can he kill them all? It'll just keep summoning more.

Before she'd had time to second guess herself, Daine started to meditate. As soon as she was focused enough to look around for the shapes of the People and the colours of magic, she saw that the world was infused with that same silver light. It leeched into the whole palace like a vine, sinking thorn pierced tendrils into every stone and every corner. Emma slept peacefully, but a thousand tiny veins of silver light pierced her skeleton and flowed through her skin.

It's like a nervous system. Daine realised, remembering the look of it from one of her anatomy books. It's channelled into everything. She looked at her hands and realised that, for some reason, the silvery thorns were leaving her alone. Think about that later.

The silver creature was a bright star among a thousand tiny threads. She could see it shining from here, but nothing else. She wouldn't know if this would even work. Another contraction crushed the air from her lungs, breaking her concentration and making her grip at the edge of the bed until it passed. When she could breathe again, the straw-stuffed mattress had a definite handprint pressed into it, where she'd been clutching at it. She hadn't realised that she was using that much strength.

Might as well put it to good use, then. She meditated again, hoping she could start a link before another wave of pain pulled her away from this, more peaceful, landscape. The silver star was where she'd left it. An immortal, smugly sending its tendrils into every living thing without so much as a by-your-leave. Right.

She mentally formed a loop of her gift, like she had done with the immortals in the lake. With them she'd just lashed out, grabbing them and holding them as still as she could while the man was rescued. This time she could plan ahead. She made a knot, securing the mental loop, making it stronger and binding it to her core. If the Immortal wanted to break away, she'd have to be unconscious or dead. She slipped the loop over the star carefully, feeling the mental stretch as she sent her magic that far away. The creature didn't notice until the second when she tightened the loop, trapping it.

Then, it fought back. The thorny vines thrashed around wildly but couldn't reach her, and she held on grimly until its first struggles had waned. The creature was clever. It stopped its random struggling quickly, obviously thinking of what to do, testing the barrier around it for weaknesses. It screamed and tore at its cage. Daine pulled herself out of the meditation, relieved when the link held up, and then doubled over her stomach with a moan of pain as another contraction struck out at her stomach. This time, instead of breaking the mattress, she sent all of the tension into the link, pushing back against the Immortal's struggles until it gave in. When the wave passed, the Immortal started attacking the barrier again.

Daine sighed. The idea worked, but the creature was stronger than she was and smart enough to figure out what was going on. At some point, it was going to break through. Even the grudging strength which Kyprioth had given her would run out eventually. She prayed that that would be far enough in the future to let Numair figure out how to kill it.

In the depths of the palace, the mage spun around from dodging a sword swipe to find that all his enemies had disappeared. Elan was as still as he'd been before, but the silver fire that he summoned pooled around him and stopped as if held by invisible walls. The creature's face was livid, eyes bulging with rage as it struggled physically, magically and mentally against its cage. Numair stared at it, still out of breath from fighting, one hand clapped to his shoulder where a soldier had scored a cut. The creature's struggles increased for a moment as a flicker of pure bronze light pulsed in its shield, and for a few moments was still.

"See, that's the problem with making yourself into an Immortal." Numair told it, "Daine can do that."

The creature's eyes narrowed for a moment, and then flickered upwards in the direction of the stairs. A slow smile split open its face again, the blood on its jaws now almost dry. It was a dangerous, furious expression, but patient. Daine can do what she likes, its eyes said coldly, and let's just see how long she can hold out. Let's just see who can live longer.

"I'm not quite one of them yet," it hissed out loud, moving with less difficulty now that the bronze flare had faded. As if shaking himself out of sleep, he darted forward with claws outstretched. He didn't have the Neferii's superhuman speed yet... or perhaps he did, and whatever was caging him was slowing him down. In any case, Numair had enough time to react, to shield himself before those cruel barbed points slashed at him. The use of his gift made the liquid magic air breathe out, painting black sparks across the air just as it had the silver and bronze magics that Elan and Daine were fighting with. But unlike their magic, which swam through the air without disturbing it, his was making it waver. Even the shield was enough to disturb it, and he was pouring as little magic into it as he dared.

He thought rapidly.

Whatever spell was in this room, it hadn't been stolen by Elan. He had disturbed this magic, drank as much of it as any mortal could suffer, but it was barely even a drop in the ocean. If he started using his gift he had no idea how this air would react. A simple fire spell could potentially set the whole room on fire, and he was guessing he'd need more than a few flames to kill this thing.

Elan lunged at him again, the claws slicing through the shield like butter. Numair swung the short sword up clumsily, mentally thanking Daine for telling him to bring it and cursing himself for not knowing how to use it properly. He could just about deflect claws that moved with treacle slowness, but if Daine lost her hold on the creature he'd have to resort to using magic. The chipped blade scraped across silver and exposed bone, making the creature draw back with a hiss, but the pain was nothing compared to the feeling of erupting through its own skin. It rapidly turned around, poised to strike again, and then froze as the cage slammed down around it again.

Numair stabbed it through where he thought its heart should be, and winced as the sword scraped across bone again. Its ribs must be fusing together into a shell, like a lobster or a beetle. Great. Elan grinned at his expression.

"Immortal, remember?" He spat, taunting the man who couldn't even kill him when he was completely paralysed. The mage gritted his teeth and pulled the sword back, his eyes sweeping over it looking for any weakness. The thing was so covered in blood that he could barely even see where its skin started.

"I've killed immortals before." He snapped. Elan rolled his eyes.

"I know. Just because that bitch is stopping my magic doesn't mean I can't remember every tedious memory I dragged out of your pathetic head. I mean, that's not even a threat, it's a fact."

Numair raised the sword again, advancing on the still-paralysed creature. Elan watched him, and then as soon as the man was close he snapped out of his pretended stillness and slashed out. The blow was more painful than the tearing claws; the tensile strength in the creature's arms was enough to send the mage crashing into the wall. Elan laughed hollowly, advancing.

"You two really need some sort of system. You know, so you can tell when she's holding me and when she's passed out somewhere. You really haven't thought this through."

Numair shook his head, trying to clear it. "She'd just yell at me for doing something that stupid." He muttered.

Elan cackled, taking his time walking through the treacle-like air.

Daine breathed out rapidly and clutched at her head, feeling her grip on the immortal failing. She could feel its hot, sick triumph through their link. It wasn't fair! It was fighting two of them at once, and it was winning. Every time she felt it weakening it drew on its veins of energy, drawing the power to fight it from the magic in the palace. She could hardly do the same; every time she sent a bolt of energy after it, trapping it, she felt herself getting weaker. And then, swiftly and viciously, the creature hurled a bolt of raw power back at her, using her own link as a direct route to strike her with brute strength.

She gasped and retched, only barely managing to hold onto the link as the silver light decayed the thin thread. The shock of it shuddered through her veins, and she was violently sick. She noticed the blood in her vomit with a cool detachment. Her body was being shattered, taking blows that would have crippled her when she was healthy, let alone when she was wracked with poison and convulsed with contractions. As soon as she'd made the link with the immortal, she'd known she was choosing to fight that battle rather than her own. She already knew she was dying, god strength or no strength. Let it be this, then. Help Numair to live. Let my baby know her father.

She only needed her mind to fight the thing.

Not that she was doing that very well. Another attack like that and the link would snap. She didn't have the strength to create another one. She thought desperately, trying to find the part of her mind that wasn't consumed with pain, or with silver light, or with worry. She couldn't fight this thing anymore. She needed to find someone who could. The only answer was to call the other Neferii. After all, they were the ones who'd screamed at her to fight this thing.

The only way she'd be able to call them would be to break off her link to the creature. The thought made her cold. What if that link was the only thing stopping it from killing Numair?

It's going to break anyway, the logical part of her mind told her. And the longer you mess about, the less strength you'll have to call the others with. One last effort, and then you'll know you did everything you could.

The thought was enough to decide her. She counted to three, and snapped the thread.

Elan stopped short, not held by anything but simply pausing. He looked intrigued. "Huh." He said, "It looks like I'm a widower."

Numair pulled himself to his feet, holding onto the wall for balance when his hurt leg trembled. He would have thought the creature was mocking him, if it hadn't had that odd expression on its face. For a second it had almost looked human. The link was gone; the bronze glitter in the air had disappeared. Despite the sinking sickness in his heart he refused to believe that Daine might be dead, but he also knew how stubborn she was. She would only stop fighting if she had no other choice.

"I'm surprised she held out for as long as she did, really." Elan's voice was almost gentle, the words barbed. "Of course, you'd know more about her stamina than I would. But I'll always have your memories to keep me company."

With a furious shout, Numair threw a bolt of raw power at the creature, wanting to sear the smug expression of its face. Elan dodged to one side, much faster now that he wasn't being pulled back, but the magic still seared one side of his body. The smell of baked fish and searing skin filled the room, and the immortal clapped his hands to his face, howling as the skin blistered and his unnatural hands accidentally clawed at them, making them worse. The air shuddered.

Elan's eyes were poisonous as he spun around, glaring, but when he saw the glitter in the air turning into a cloud he started to choke out a laugh. "Uh oh."

"Shut up." Numair didn't care about the spell any more. He wanted this man to burn. And Elan was through with goading him. Now the mage was fighting properly, and he could move as swiftly as his new limbs would allow, this was a fight to the death. The palace could sink into the lake for all either of them cared, as long as the other man drowned with it. So what if the dark cloud of magic was growing in the center of the room like a storm, lit by silver lightning each time Elan drained the magic from the air? So what if the glass walls trembled and bowed, fighting to hold the water back?

It could have been hours later or a few seconds, but a scream lit through the air and suddenly both men froze, panting for breath. The sound spun through the room, lighting in every corner of the glittering air. Although the screaming was harsh and toneless, it bathed the furious magic in a cool light, gradually soothing the air into the magical translucence that it had been before. When the shock of that sound had worn off they could have moved again, but by then the screaming immortals were in the room, moving so fast that neither fighter could react before their arms were held at their sides by long clawed fingers. Elan struggled and Numair drew on his magic, ready to keep fighting, but the hands shook them angrily.

"Fine to kill each other, but NOT HERE!" one of them shouted, breaking through the scream that the other Neferii maintained. Numair could barely tell them apart, but he thought he recognised one of the smaller ones as Ghada. The ones who clutched at their arms were larger, the males or the older ones, and they were furious.

One of the ones holding Elan peered into his face. Next to these elegant self-controlled creatures, Elan looked like something a carthorse had run over. As much as his bones had stretched, he still barely reached Ghada's shoulders, and his human skin still clung to him like rotten grey moss to a tree. When he was surrounded by the creatures he quietened, still feeling his human fear of these creatures who looked at him with open disgust. The Neferii looked at each other, and wordlessly the ones who held him dragged him out of the room. When they reached the corridor they dragged him through the glass wall, ignoring his screams as the last of his mortal flesh was left behind. They passed through behind him, easily, like the wall was simply water. A last few bubbles of mortal air escaped his lips as his ravaged gills struggled to breathe the icy water, but again they ignored him as they swam downwards. In seconds, he had disappeared. Three or four of the creatures stayed in the room, still keening softly, still checking the corners for traces of errant magic.

"What will you do to him?" Numair demanded, thinking whatever it is, he deserves worse. The creature that was holding him let go, apparently losing interest, and didn't answer. As soon as the liquid magic in the air was still once more, the four creatures simply left.

Numair realised he was out of breath, still tense for a fight, but now that there was no-one left to fight his body reminded him of all the cuts and bruises he'd gathered in the last hour. He leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath, and as soon as he thought he could run he started up the stairs. The fury that had consumed his mind was gone, and all that was left was one prayer: please, gods, let Daine be alive.


	30. Losing Your Game

Kyprioth was cursing in the way that only a deity can. Instead of invoking in name alone, his invocations made the air thicker and the light dimmer. Each oath echoed with undertones of power, pure animal rage in an omnipotent shell. Like a child, he stamped his feet; every step he took left a deep footprint embedded in the solid stone. Any priests who saw him like this would be frantically burning incense by the pound; any of the simple mountain worshippers would have been running for their lives.

She'd called the Neferii! With the power that he'd given her, she'd turned around and convinced his own children to betray him! How dare she! All of the vicious fury that he might have directed at the group of immortals was aimed at that girl. He didn't care if she was Weiryn's daughter: she was a nuisance, and she wasn't playing fair, and she was going to pay for it.

He didn't even bother making himself look more human, or less terrifying, as he charged through the corridors. The bandits took one look and made the sign against evil, seeing only a vague shape covered in its own cloud of night. He left a stream of babbling, weeping mortals behind him. May you cry your eyes right out into the gutter, he thought spitefully.

He slammed into the healer's room in a whirlwind of pure energy, watching the door hinges splinter with a huge amount of satisfaction. The sound made two of the people in the room look up, their faces white. Even through his rage, the god could see that their expression wasn't fear, but immense grief. The third person in the room had eyes that were barely opened, and the forth had eyes that would never open again.

The healer held the baby in her arms. It was squalling weakly, its voice thin even for a premature child. The woman's face was tired, ravaged, and against her pale skin red blood dried unnoticed on her hands. She tried to soothe the baby, but the child screamed its loss as loudly as the adults' tears were silent. The man rocked Daine's body in his arms gently, as if she was still capable of feeling anything in the black realms. He looked up wearily, hardly caring that the furious face of imminent godly death was glaring at him. His eyes were just... empty. Completely numb.

Kyprioth swore loudly. She wasn't dead- she couldn't be- because he wanted to yell at her. He didn't get angry often, but by his brother's shield he wasn't going to let her escape from this battle that easily. His anger still raged against her, and all he could think was that she'd died on purpose to spite him, to laugh at his rage from the safety of the black god's arms.

On an impulse born of the purest desire to pick a fight, he grabbed her wrist and stared into her eyes, seeing past the closed lids into the fragments of mortality that always lingered. When he found a spark he could follow, he leapt through her mind and followed it to the dark realms. She was barely in the fingertips of the wardens of the dead, her shade whispering wordlessly among the moss that paved the path, still warm with memories of life, utterly lost in the pure darkness that only the Gods could see through. He yanked the insubstantial dust of her spirit backwards, dragging her furiously back to her body and shaking it angrily a few times for good measure.

"You CHEATED!" He yelled, spit frothing at the corners of his mouth. Her eyes flew open and stared at him in pure terror, her chest hitching as she struggled to draw breath into lungs that had surrendered long minutes ago. Kyprioth glared at her as she struggled, not helping, knowing full well the pain of every nerve reconnecting and every vein pushing thick blood through frozen flesh. "You didn't play by the rules! You cheated! Say something, damn it!"

Her hands spasmed as she tried to get a grasp on the real world again, her voice shuddering and halting with each word. "Tha-ank yuh...yuh..."

The god's expression darkened; he scowled fiercely and moved as if to strike her. Numair held her more tightly and shifted so that he was guarding her with one shoulder, his stunned eyes infinitely grateful but holding a definite warning. The gesture was completely lost on the god, who saw these two as nothing more than infuriating, interfering mortals. Daine opened her mouth again, obviously making an effort to form the words, although her voice was still uneven.

"Are you guh-going to take me b-back to thuh...to... to there?" Her eyes didn't look frightened at the idea, but more wary at the god's furious unpredictability. Kyprioth scowled. He leaned in closer, ignoring the mage, his eyes filled with the furious dark of a lightning-pierced night.

"I haven't decided yet. If the next thing you say is as useless as that question, then yes." He gripped her chin with one hand, the nails digging cruelly into her cheeks. Her skin was still as cold as death, and she shuddered involuntarily at every drawn breath, but her eyes were as clear as his were cloaked with fury. "Speak."

"I d-don't understa-and." She told him, her eyes flickering as she thought of all the things that might have enraged the god. "Is Elan d-dead?"

"Dead?" He let go of her and flung his hands up dramatically, eternally flamboyant even in the throes of ire. "I wish he was dead! I wanted him dead. But you, with your stupid mortal stubbornness and that perishing infant... between you and your useless friend, you let him live. After I gave you every clue, and you snubbed me..." he paced the room, barely aware that he was making the floor shake, and that centuries of dust was being disturbed from the ceiling. "And then you gave him to them. He's right there, right now, being watched..!"

"How exactly have we 'cheated'?" Numair asked, breaking his silence to be coldly logical, "We told you that we didn't know anything about the island. And... forgive me... but you can't blame us for not following your clues. If you want something done you should be more direct. If we misunderstood then it's your fault."

"Speak again, mage, and I will fuse your teeth together." The easy threat was almost sweetly quiet. Numair shrugged with forced nonchalance. He knew that what would have been an empty threat from a human was a grim promise from this god, but he couldn't be angry at the being when he'd brought Daine back.

"I t-tried to kill him. I couldn'... un... unt." Daine made a meaningless gesture with one hand, her fingertips twitching sporadically. "I thought the Nuh... Neferii would be able t-to, so I called them."

"And they went into the crypt and happily took him away, and now half of the spell is here and the other half is at the bottom of the lake." Kyprioth's voice was bitter, petulant. "They won't even talk to me anymore, because the spell is more important to them. I should never have let you on this island. You've spoiled everything. It used to be fun."

"It used t-to be a..a slaughterhouse." The girl shadowed his words so softly that even the god blinked, unsure if she'd really said it. For a breath of time he stared at her, his face shifting between fury and something that, if it wasn't on the face of a divine being, could have been called bafflement. A sharp sound cracked through the air, like a whip, and he vanished.

Daine made a choking sound. Emma half stood up, clutching the baby closer to her in panic, and then realised that the girl was laughing. Great, hysterical sobs of laughter that shifted from wild mirth to tears and back again in the space of each hitching breath. The girl's hands gripped at Numair, her knuckles white as if letting go would drop her back into the abyss, and she shook as she laughed. He held her just as tightly, his expression still stunned, feeling the icy coldness gradually fading away.

"I thought I'd lost you." He whispered into her hair. She didn't answer, couldn't stop laughing.

"Did that... thing... just save your life so he could yell at you?" Emma asked, completely bewildered. The girl's laughter redoubled at the question. The healer stood up rapidly, cradling the child in one arm so she could check the pulse that danced at Daine's throat. "Hey, you need to calm down. Your heart's beating too fast."

"At least it's beating," Numair said, the light words almost consumed by the relief in them. He loosened his hold on her and gently pried one of her hands away. "Daine, sweetheart, you need to stop laughing. You'll wake up the baby."

"The baby's already..." Emma stopped speaking, feeling stupid. "Oh, right."

Daine shut her eyes, obviously making an effort. Her constant shaking was gradually stopping, although her feet and hands kept shuddering of their own volition, still getting used to being mortal again. When she could breathe again without laughing she opened her eyes, a sudden flash of grey which focused on the bundle in Emma's arms. She reached out for it impulsively, and then cursed like a sailor when the movement sent shudders along both of her arms.

"At least she'll have a good vocabulary." Numair's dry comment made Daine laugh again, but quietly.

"You hold her," she told him, "I can't."

Emma handed him the infant and made herself scarce. Numair held his daughter as if she was made of glass, almost frightened by how small she was. He could easily cradle her back and her head in one hand. She started whining at the difference in warmth until he held her closer, like he'd seen the healer do. The tiny eyes were gummed up with sleep, but when she shifted there was a hint of the bright blue irises that most babies had, almost hidden under the dark lashes.

"She's beautiful," he whispered, awed. The sound made her start to fret again until Daine hesitantly reached out and stroked her head, her hand only trembling slightly. The motion must have soothed the baby, because she slept again. They smiled at each other and watched her sleep, transfixed by the tiny rise and fall of her chest. By the time Emma had come back into the room they were asleep, too.


	31. Losing Your Friend

Numair hissed between his teeth at the sting of the alcohol Tyro had given him to clean out the gouge on his shoulder. Daine looked up from where she was sitting beside the fire, her eyes amused.

"Your father complains more about healers than he does about battles," she told the baby, who was napping in a nest of blankets close to the warmth of the hearth.

"Well, of course." The man dabbed tentatively at the cut and pulled his sleeve down over it. "I get more sympathy from the healers. Usually." He pulled a face at the flask as he stoppered it and glanced at his arm. "This'll be healed up by the time Emma's awake."

"She did use all her magic," Daine pointed out, "She deserves more than three days sleep, really."

Three days. If anyone had expected something dramatic to happen, it hadn't. Apart from Kyprioth's rampage through the corridors, most of the bandits hadn't even noticed anything had happened. They carried on their normal lives, slightly lost as they felt the absence of Elan. Although they could function without the man, they missed the reassurance he'd given them. His closest followers had started giving their own orders, prowling the corridors in their leader's name. Some whispers had started, some grumbles in the corners and tunnels, but the threat of dissention was still only a whisper of the storm on the horizon.

The bodyguards who Numair had knocked out watched him warily, but didn't tell anyone what had happened. They thought they knew the truth of things, they thought he'd killed their leader, but the easy strength that he'd disabled them with made them cautious. If he had actually hurt them they might have reacted, but he'd left them alive. They were battle hardened men, used to the violent politics of the tribes, and patient enough to bide their time and wait for him to make a move. In the meantime, they prowled the corridors like a gang and searched for Elan's body.

It was Tyro who took command, although he didn't do anything as obvious as declaring himself a leader. He listened when people approached him with their problems, gave advice, and moved on. One of the first actual commands he gave was that the crypt was completely off limits to anyone. Even when they went to claim Keith's body it was just him and Numair, sharing the leaden weight between them. He looked smaller in death. They brought him to the surface, knowing the body which would rot in the small warmth of the palace would freeze in the winter cave, staying whole until they could bury it properly.

No-one else came; it was just one more death out of the hundreds on the island. They stood next to the body awkwardly, shivering in the frozen air even through their many layers. Daine had also made her shaky way to the surface, but she had left the baby in the palace, knowing that it was too cold for it outside. She touched Keith's hair softly.

"He didn't deserve to die." She said. "He wasn't even a part of this."

"Everyone's a part of it." Tyro's voice was harsh, his breath misting in the frozen air. "Do you really think if you don't tell people they're in a war, it'll just leave them alone?"

She blinked and looked away. "No. Not really. I just thought..."

"Then don't think." The words were snapped off abruptly. Daine's eyes narrowed, but she made herself walk towards the trapdoor before she had time to snap out a retort.

"Who put a bee in your bonnet?" Numair's voice was light, but his eyes held a definite warning. Tyro looked up, his expression equally guarded.

"She had no right to say that. She doesn't care about my people. If we were in Tortall it'd be just like Snowsdale, again."

"Snowsdale?" Numair actually took half a step away before he collected himself. "What do you know about Snowsdale?"

"I was there." Tyro covered Keith's face with a cloth and weighted the edges down with stones, not looking up from his task. "It was my family she killed. She killed them all."

Tyro heard the other man taking a sharp breath, and wondered what he was thinking. Numair already knew- he must have already known, she'd have told him- but it was one thing to hear a story, and another thing to speak to a survivor. He concentrated on keeping the stones tidy on the cloth, making sure they lined up. When Numair did speak, the statement was definitely a reason, and not an excuse.

"They killed her family first."

Tyro did look up at that comment, a wry smile on his face as he tapped the last two stones against each other in his hand. His voice became sarcastic. "Yes, you're right. Vengeance is satisfied. We can all be merry once again and forget the whole blessed thing." He put the stones down carefully and stood up straight, his eyes serious. "Look, I'm not blaming either of you for all this. Gods only know, without you two we would still be dying on the mainland. But I don't like your pretending that you're doing it for us. You're not. As soon as you've done whatever you were told to do you'll go home and forget about us. And you'd be welcomed back to Tortall. You still have that luxury." He stared up at the roof, where daylight was being blocked by the thick winter mist. "But we don't."

"I'm sure you could..." the other man started, but Tyro grinned and held up a hand.

"We couldn't, and to be honest most of us are happy about that. In your country we're seen as murderers and thieves and liars even without having to commit a crime. People look at us, and the way we live, and see all their fears coming true. And yes, some of them are justified. Perhaps too many. But here, we can start again. Give it fifty years, and maybe Tortall will see us as another country rather than just a convenient island prison." He shrugged, back to his normal wry humour, and then looked towards the trapdoor. "I guess I owe Daine an apology though, right?"

"I admit, I have heard more subtle ways to start a conversation." Numair stopped speaking altogether to stand next to the body, placing one hand on Keith's shoulder as he offered up a prayer to whichever god kept the man. He'd never thought to ask him. Now it seemed a bit late to try.

He nearly tripped over Daine at the bottom of the steps. She bit her lip guiltily, making her cats-ears shrink back down. Even the small amount of magic needed a lot more effort than it should, and when Numair rolled his eyes at her she couldn't tell if he was more annoyed about her not resting, or about her listening in so obviously. But it was important.

"Eavesdropping, magelet?" Numair asked drily. She blushed and looked past him, to where Tyro was climbing down the stairs.

"Salt." She said abruptly. Tyro stopped and stared at her, half-bowed to look down the stairs.

"I'm sorry?" He asked, formally polite. She touched her nose, her eyes quite wide like a child trying to set a story straight, her voice dropping back into a strong Gallan burr as she explained.

"Salt. You smelled of salt. There wasn't any in the house, so I knew you weren't there." She shrugged uncomfortably. "Everyone else smelled the same. Some of them were wearing ma's clothes. I couldn't tell the difference between them 'cos I was so mad with it all, but I knew that there wasn't no salt in the house."

"How do you remember what things smelled like so many years ago?" Tyro said in disbelief. She shook her head.

"Same reason you remember it, I reckon. Some things, you just don't forget." She raised her chin stubbornly. "You're wrong about me. I wouldn't do it again, not like that. But I'm not sorry for it, either. And I don't want you to apologise to me, either."

Tyro held up a hand to stop the other man from following Daine when she abruptly turned and left again, her piece said. Numair scowled at him and put his hands in his pockets.

"If you want to argue with her, then don't do it through me." He started, and stopped when Tyro shook his head. He didn't say anything until the girl's footsteps had disappeared, and even then it was just one word, which he held up for inspection alongside an item almost too small to see.

"Look."

It looked like a dead bee. Or maybe it was a bean. Numair held out a hand and Tyro dropped it into his palm, being none-too-careful with it. On closer inspection it still looked like a bean, but it was far too heavy, like lead, and its surface was intricately coloured like mother of pearl. The mage squinted at it.

"What is it?" He asked, interested despite himself. Tyro shrugged.

"I 'unno. I found it in Keith's pocket."

Numair yelped and nearly dropped it. "You went through his pockets?"

Tyro grinned with good humour. "When are you going to get used to the fact that I'm a bandit, Morgan? Yes, I went through his pockets before I left him to freeze. He might have had something useful- I don't know, medicine, money, a pack of cards without the aces missing. This was all he had. I thought it was a pebble, so I nearly threw it away..."

The mage shook his head absently, "No, it's not a pebble. It's... I'm not sure what it is. Is it magical?"

"That's what I thought you could answer," the bandit sounded surprised. "I thought you mages could tell right away."

"We have to test them, and... well, using magic around here seems to be quite dangerous." Numair looked at the thing again and shrugged, his wariness overcome by sheer curiosity. He opened his palm so the thing was resting on a flat surface, and whispered a word.

The thing glowed for a split second, and then the light faded. For a moment, the light settled in the cracks of the intricate design.

"Hey- I know that! That's a nautical mark." Tyro said suddenly, grabbing for the thing before the light faded. The glow had already gone by the time he had it close to his eyes, but he squinted at the cracks to try to make out the symbol. "It's a real old-fashioned one, too. Do you think he found this in the city?"

"No," Numair leaned against the wall, looking suddenly tired. The interest that had held him for a few moments was gone, and grim resignation had taken its place. He scratched the cut on his shoulder idly. "They're still used, just not by sailors. Silly people think that, since they're old, no-one can understand them anymore. We need to find Keith's bag. He'll be hiding something."

"Why? What is this thing?" Tyro gave up blinking at the sign, impossible to see among the pearl-like sheen, and looked up. Numair shrugged, but it was an uncomfortable gesture rather than a dismissal.

"It's a listening bug. You put it in your ear, and you can hear everything. It makes things louder, and you can direct it to listen to some things and ignore others. I've heard about them before. They all get issued them, when they're chosen from the university. I just never thought Keith was one of them..."

"You're rambling." Tyro's voice was serious, and he held out the bug to give it back. At the mage's surprised look, he almost threw it at his feet. "I don't want this. It sounds dishonest."

"It is." Numair smiled wanly and pocketed the bug. "Our friend Keith was a spy."

Tyro blinked, and then laughed unexpectedly and clapped the mage on the back. "You know, it's getting so I'd be surprised if I found out that one of my new friends wasn't a spy. Why do you want to check his stuff?"

"Because I don't have a clue who he was a spy for. But I know for a fact that he's not from Tortall... which means that another country might know about the weapon. They could be on their way here right now, with an army, ready to seize it before I can destroy it. He was always more concerned about getting it to work than stopping it. I thought he was just curious. I'm an idiot."

"Don't exaggerate like that." Tyro shrugged off the idea. "Even if your imaginary invasion did get here, they'd not get past the Children. I'll tell you something about Keith for nothing, though."

Numair glanced at him, not noticing that he'd been idly rolling the bug between his fingertips as he thought. "Go on," he said guardedly. Tyro grinned and stuck his own hands in his pockets.

"He was a much better spy than you were!" He said cheerfully, and walked away whistling.

Daine was quiet the whole time that Numair told her about Keith, not asking any questions until the end, and even then asking in a soft voice. They had already found out that the slightest noise could wake up their daughter, but still stayed close to her when they spoke in case the fire that kept the frost away started sparking dangerously.

"Why does it matter?" Daine asked eventually, accepting the idea a lot easier than Numair had done. "Even if he was a spy, so what? We're spies too. And he was our friend. If he thought to put us in danger he would have told us so."

"Just like we told him about Elan, and about the deal with Kyprioth?" Numair's voice was slightly detached, but bitter. Daine opened her mouth to answer, and then shut it again. The baby waved a hand in her sleep, freeing it from the cocoon she slept in, and instead of replying Daine gently tucked it back inside the blanket.

"Did you find anything, then?" She asked instead, "When you searched his stuff, I mean?"

The man brightened slightly, "Yes. You know that notebook, full of the drawings of rocks? The one he kept trying to show to people? Well, it turns out that only the first ten sheets are rocks. Although, that's still far too many. The rest were notes in sailor's runes. Tyro said he could translate them, but he's busy at the moment and he doesn't think it's important, either."

"I didn't say I don't think it's important," Daine said, stung, "It's just not as important as the real threats around us. Like, did you know the Neferii have been completely silent since they took Elan away? They haven't even been screaming at the Johi. And the bandits have started fighting again in the corridors. They know something's wrong, and they're finding people to blame for it. Sooner or later they're going to ask us why a livid God rampaged through this palace right to our door. And that's not even thinking about what mood Kyprioth might be in the next time he appears."

The baby woke up at the slight rise in her mother's voice, keening thinly. Daine bit her lip guiltily and picked the child up, rocking her gently to see if she would sleep again without wanting to feed first. "And you, my poor little darling," she told her gently, "You don't even have a name yet, do you? I bet you think that's important."

Numair sat down on the floor next to her and rested his hand on the baby's downy head. She had stopped crying, but still snuffled slightly in her sleep. "I didn't mean... I mean, I just wanted to work out one puzzle that wasn't actually trying to kill us, before it started copying all the other puzzles." He said quietly. "I don't see why we are always the ones in the middle of everything. Other people seem to get on perfectly well without monsters chasing after them, and mages going mad, and gods playing tricks on them."

The baby woke itself up with an especially loud snuffle, and started crying again. Daine started laughing.

"She's scared of her own shadow," she giggled, and suddenly stopped, her brow creasing in thought. It wasn't until the baby flailed a fist that she returned to reality, blinking at her daughter and smiling. "It's really that simple, isn't it?"

"What is?" Numair took the baby and rocked her, recognising the already too-familiar crying fit that wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

"The Johi. We were thinking about them as fire, as water, as magic, and even as stone... but the one thing they always are is children." Daine pushed her hair back and threw some more fuel on the fire. "They're just like babies. They can't speak, but they can cry and fight against things they don't like, even if it makes no sense. And they quiet down when they find things they do like, like the music. That's how they were trapped for so long- by the music. They screamed by the time we got here, but..." she shrugged. "They were probably bored of it by then."

"They're children with very, very sharp claws," Numair pointed out. "This had better be a hypothetical idea, and not an adoption plan."

Daine shot him an amused look. "No, of course not. But the baby started getting angry when I yelled at you."

"And what does that mean when it's at home?" The man sounded more bewildered than anything else. Daine kissed his cheek lightly, smiling even as her own idea terrified her.

"Don't worry. I'm just thinking out loud." She took the baby back, pulling a face back at the girl's scrunched up features. "I think she wants feeding, and she definitely wants a name. Do you have any ideas?"

888


	32. Unbelievable Truth

It has finally happened.

We waited, oh we waited. We played the games. We bowed our heads to the god and spoke to the mortals, and we waited. The spell stayed on the sacred island. It sang, torturing us. It spoke of knowledge like the mortal children, whispering secrets to each other but never saying what they truly are. We yearned for it, but we couldn't reach it.

Delicious, beautiful knowledge, and it terrified us. Death bites sharply at we Immortals. We fear it like flame and smoke and the brightness of the sun. But we can avoid it, and it will not try to touch us. Why should we seek death out? The mortals dance with it, spinning through their tiny lives like bubbles in the water, and when it reaches out its hands they take them easily. They don't know how to be afraid. They don't listen to the curses death whispers in their ears, they only see the dark fire that burns so sweetly in its eyes. They do not know how to hear it.

I am angry at Arra-Daine. I thought she was the one. I thought she was the mortal who listens, the one who could hear the spell whispering in her ears. We let them stumble through the sacred rooms, clumsy with their mortal magic and whispered secrets. She did not hear the whispers, and we grew impatient. But in the end it was this one, this mortal who calls himself leader, who thought he could make a treaty with us. It was this one who brought us the spell.

True, he brought it screaming and struggling. But it is ours now. We will not release it. The mortal words escape from his lips in silent bubbles, and he cannot speak the way the little bat does, but that is nothing. The magic is ours; the knowledge is safely caught in this putrid shell of rotting mortal flesh. As long as he keeps it he will linger between death's claws and our own, and he will be safe.

Tay-Kiri, we played your game for centuries. You held this jewel of knowledge in front of us, taunting us, but now we have it. What power do you have over us, now? We have won. We no longer fear the Johi. We no longer fear you. We have won.

Soon, soon, one of those mortal bubbles will become a word. Soon we will know this beautiful eternity of truth. The lake will be ours alone. With this mortal knowledge, we can control the magic in the palace. All we have to do is wait, silent and joyful. We have the key.

We have won.

We will be free.

And the island will be ours alone. This I swear to you, Tay-Kiri. The mortals will know how to fear death. The liars and the singers and the ones who smile behind swords will all die. I will break my oath willingly, for I am no longer your servant. The game is over, and my promise turns to ash and drifts away in the tide.

I will hurt who I choose.

I swear it.

888

Tyro could feel the tension in the air. It was thick, as if the water that caressed the glass walls had finally broken through. Morgan described the same sensation as the magic in the place being disturbed or some-such, but Tyro felt it was different from that. His senses were finely tuned from his years working on ships. When he'd been a runaway bandit cabin-boy he'd climbed into the rigging and stayed there for hours, just to escape from that same atmosphere. It was the tight, tense emotion of people who are trapped, and confused, and frightened... but not aware of any of those things. Sailors recognised it easily. It was the feeling that a becalmed ship would settle into, a dark cloud of bitter words and useless games. After a few days of sitting uselessly in the sea, eating up supplies, even the best of friends would begin to fight. The sea, once so inviting and graceful, would laugh with each wave as it moved away, further than the useless ship. Some called it cabin fever, the claustrophobic uselessness that spread like a plague. Tyro was usually quite practically minded, but as he walked the palace corridors there was only one thought in his mind: these people are gasping for a good strong breeze.

It infected him too, this plague. He was too cautious to dismiss it. There was something wrong. The waters were silent, and still, and dark. Lumps of ice broke the surface, refracting the light into a sickly yellow-green. The people huddled in their rooms, half frozen even in their cloaks and with their fires burning strongly. Elan had been gone for a week now, and the whispers had begun to turn into arguments. Tyro's own authority was unquestioned, but one word in the wrong ear and he could be branded a murderer and a usurper.

And then, on the eighth day, the weather broke. The anaemic sun shone through the water and lit the corridors with golden balm. The bandits emerged from their rooms, where they'd been huddling and muttering with like-minded people, and immediately found out that their neighbours had spent the frozen week deciding just how wrong their mutterings were. Scuffles broke out, and then fights. Breath steamed in the air as men lunged at each other, as women screamed at them and at each other. Tyro broke up more fights than he ever had as a ship captain in a single hour, but as soon as his back was turned they were at each others' throats again.

The strange thing, he thought, is that they're all mixed up. I recognised some of my folks in with Elan's men, and I'm sure that some of those women are from the other tribe.

The senseless fighting wasn't nearly as frightening as the ways that the groups suddenly ganged up on lone people, though. Any person walking alone would be challenged- who are they walking to? What are those people doing? Were they the ones who destroyed the floor? Most of them shook their heads and gave nothing answers, and were grudgingly accepted. But then...

"There- that's the one!" A woman shouted, and her skinny hand was pointing down one of the endless flights of stairs that made up the thoroughfare. Tyro bit his lip when he saw exactly who she was pointing at, and then mentally shrugged. Stepping in would be a bad idea. Numair had started working in the crypt again, and the woman must have memorised his routine, lying in wait for him to walk nearby so she could accuse him. Her eyes flickered from side to side, drawing the other bandits in to her story. "That's the one; I saw him talking to Elan before he disappeared! Right before he vanished, it were!" Her shriek lowered to a more confiding tone, which carried in the breathless silence of the others around her. "An' I went in, and he'd gone... and all Elan's men were just lying there, like death!"

"They're standing right there," The man she was pointing at said mildly, nodding at the bodyguards. They shuffled their feet slightly and said nothing, waiting for the crowd to decide first. Numair shrugged easily. "Surely they can explain what happened to Elan better than I can? After all, he was lying with them when I left. And I'd like to point out that even if they were lying 'like' death, they seem to be very much alive now. As was Elan, the last time I saw him."

A few eyes glanced up at the mage, some believing, most incredulous. They'd heard the woman's story before, and she was backed up by the whole group of Elan's strongest supporters. Even the ones who knew Morgan couldn't quite believe his story- since they'd gotten to the island he'd been working in the crypt, and they could hardly remember him. But he sounded calm- not like someone accused at all- and they started losing interest in picking a fight. Tyro nearly breathed a sigh of relief when the tension started to drip from the air, replaced by honest confusion. But then the stupid lanky fool went and ruined it!

"But," he said with a strange smile, "I do know what happened to Elan."

There was an uproar. People jumped to their feet, or grabbed their neighbour's arms, whispering frantically in each other's ears. Every single person who was crowded in the corridor kept at least one eye fixed on the mage while word spread. In the time it had taken the woman to make her accusation, the corridor had filled with curious people, stretching back into the far corners and darkening the glass walls. Tyro could see people muttering to the people behind them, letting the words spread down the line like a game of Yamani-Whispers.

And as one, the myriad of voices began to form one demand. "Tell us!"

Numair shrugged wryly, one voice against the hundreds. "Why? You wouldn't believe me. You think that Elan can do nothing wrong. He must have been whisked away by the gods, for surely they'd be the only ones who'd dare to confront such a pure being!" Tyro would have thought that anyone else would have used those words as a bluff, but the mage actually turned around and made as if to walk back into the crypt. Tyro pushed forward through the noise of the crowd and grabbed the man's arm, almost furious.

"Are you mad?" He demanded, "This is a lynch mob waiting to happen, and you're goading them!"

"They don't want to hear the truth, they just want a scapegoat." Numair made his voice clear, indifferent. It washed through the bandits heated mutterings like cold water. "If they're just going to pander to rumour then why should I tell them the truth?"

Tyro let go of the other man's arm, almost speechless by this idiocy. "You actually want to die, don't you?"

"He wanted Elan to, that's fer sure!" A voice shouted, to general agreement.

"Naw, he just wanted to make his wife a widow!" A second one jeered, sparking a wave of laughter. Some of it was good natured, but a few serious looks darted upwards again.

"It's a mighty fine coinci-dent that Elan disappeared right after he were attacked by this'n!" The third voice drawled his words sardonically, raising a rumble of support. The mage grinned at that comment and held up a hand, palm-upwards. The gesture was peaceful, his words were anything but.

"You've got me wrong, friends. Elan's not dead. But you're right that I hated the man, and I attacked him. I swear before you and Shakith that I will be the one to kill him. But I haven't had the satisfaction yet."

This time the murmurs were confused. The bodyguards straightened up slightly, looking around as if they could protect an invisible man from such a serene threat.

"Now, when I suggested so nicely that you should tell the truth," Tyro muttered, "I was thinking that you'd be telling some half-truth. Not the actual, actual truth."

"Why did you attack him, then?" it was the first woman's voice, but it had lost a lot of its sharpness. Numair stared at her levelly for a moment, and then smiled evenly. Tyro wouldn't have thought it, but the man had actually managed to get the mob to listen to his answers. Whether they'd believe them was another matter...

"The truth?" Asked Numair, and waited patiently for the woman's nod before he continued, "He poisoned his wife, who is my friend, and I didn't think to ask nicely for the antidote."

"Why would he do that?" Someone shouted incredulously. The same shout echoed back down the line of people as the mage's words were passed back. Again, Numair waited patiently until they were quiet before he answered.

"He knew that she and I are friends. We've been working together for months. He wanted us out of the crypt so he could get to the dangerous spell that's down there. We've been trying to destroy it for months, to make it safe, but he just wanted its power. So he poisoned her. Ask Emma the healer, she'll tell you the truth of it."

"He wouldn't do that." One of the men said uncertainly. A few others were whispering to each other. Yes, they could believe that something that powerful could tempt any man. They were people who took advantages when they were offered. Elan was no less than any man among them, and many of the men were now muttering about the power that must be hidden in the palace. If Elan wanted it, if he was willing to hurt his own wife for it, then surely it was worth having! They changed their minds quite quickly at the mage's next quiet statement, though.

"The spell... changed him, warped him. It was too powerful, and he broke the treaty by trying to take it. The Neferii punished him for it. They dragged him through the wall. If they were going to kill him they'd have just done it." He shrugged again, hardly noticing that the bandits were hanging on his every word. "So they have him still, somewhere, alive. And that's all I know."

A few hundred eyes looked up, not accusing this time but thoughtful. The words that were unsaid whispered in every mind. Elan made a mistake, and he's paying for it, that seems fair enough. Of course it was completely untrue, about him poisoning his wife- there must be something else there, right? But the spell, I can imagine that... those immortal things, who knows what they get up to?

"You... there's no way you just talked down a lynch mob." Tyro's whisper was frankly admiring. "You had me worried there for a minute."

"Worry about whether it'll stick." Numair shrugged and walked back towards the crypt. This time the crowd parted easily, letting him through in a storm of whispers and speculations. "I wouldn't believe that story if I didn't already know it was true. But at least they'll have something to talk about that won't lead to another brawl."

Tyro waited at the edge of the crowd. The thought of following the mage any further into the crypt which still smelled of death and blood made him feel ill. "If they decide you're lying, it might lead to a hanging. Bandit law is pretty merciless, you know."

The man shrugged awkwardly, the easy bravado beginning to slip away now that the adrenalin of the mob wasn't fuelling it. "Let's hope they don't, then. Nothing else to do. Besides, it's not all bad news," he scanned the glass walls and the stone ceiling with grim dark humour, "It might take them a while to find somewhere to hang the rope."


	33. Wordless

"I'm not a babysitter, you know." Emma sniffed, taking the child anyway despite her peeved tone. "I didn't correct you when you thought I was a hippo, or a tiger, or whatever it was, but I'm drawing the line now: I'm a healer, not some wet-nurse."

Daine bit her lip at that and unconsciously glanced at Sarralyn. "I didn't think you were," she replied, embarrassed. "She'll sleep through anyway, I hope. I'll only be gone for an hour. I just asked if you'd watch her for me."

"An hour," the healer said flatly, "at dusk..."

"Yes, but..." The girl started, and then stopped when Emma interrupted,

"And don't you be lying to me. I know how good you are at it, remember? You- the one who lost so much blood I'm surprised she can stand- you are going off on your own for an hour, across the lake, at dusk? If you really thought it was safe you'd have told Morgan instead of sneaking off like this." She held out the baby, another indignant sniff brewing. "The gods sent you a baby to tell you to sit down and stop being a little idiot."

Sarralyn made a mewling noise in her sleep and shifted. Emma rolled her eyes and held her more securely. She wondered that she felt so protective of this baby. She'd delivered so many before- the rugged women in the tribes rarely needed help, and produced children just as hale as they were without much trouble. Breech births were less a matter for medical judgement, and more a decision based on how much time the tribe could stay in one place for. Such callousness was expected, if not openly admitted.

But Sarralyn had been barely alive, a tiny pale scrap of mewling child born from a mother with stubbornness but no strength, and when Emma held her in her arms she expected this bloodless, breathless waif to follow the black god's path in her mother's footsteps. Poor child, born far too early into the dead of winter: never a good sign. The healer made a sign warding away evil and secretly thought that even that was a wasted effort.

And then the child's blue eyes had opened, and she saw a glimpse of the bright determination that shone so clearly from both parents. Sarralyn fought her way into life like the gods themselves were shoving her onwards, and then the determination faded. She was just a baby, with the same liquid vacancy in her gaze that all babies wore. But Emma kept that glimpse of fire in her heart, and loved the child for it. It seemed so pure. Here, where monsters screamed and all the leaders fought each other like children, it seemed so beautiful.

When the healer looked up, Daine was still standing in the room. She was watching her daughter with guilt written on her face. Emma sighed inwardly. Maybe she had been a bit sharp with the girl. It would do her good to get some fresh air, she supposed. She should really stop her from walking altogether, but she seemed to have recovered remarkably quickly. At the end of the day, Emma thought wryly, I have no experience in healing people who are technically dead.

"Well?" Emma flicked her fingers at her, "Aren't you going? I think it would take more than a few gods to stop you being idiotic, girl."

Daine grinned her thanks and left. The icy ground stung her bare feet as she ran, but she barely noticed it. She planned to shapeshift into a bird or a bat to fly across the lake, and she didn't need shoes for that. She'd pulled as many layers on as possible before she left, though. Maybe some of them would still be warm when she shape-shifted back to human outside.

That plan was quickly squashed when she climbed through the trapdoor and saw the lake. It was completely frozen over. The Neferii had been keeping it thawed, crushing the thick ice every time they screamed at the Johi, but they hadn't been doing that for a week now, since they took Elan away. The lake looked like a field of snow. The small gaps in the ceiling high above whistled with the wind, and every time there was an especially strong gust a flurry of snow danced into the cave with it: silver against the grey, white against the shadows, blue with the sweet promise of daylight. It would have been beautiful if it wasn't so cold, and Daine wondered why on earth the Johi hadn't crossed over. They couldn't touch the water, but this was a snowdrift. They could simply walk across without even touching the ice.

She decided against flying after all. She was still tired, and she didn't want Numair to know she'd been using magic rather than recovering. He seemed to have perfected the art of rolling his eyes these days. Instead, she grew fur on her feet, warm and thick enough to ward off the snow. Then she walked.

It was difficult going, but she relished the warmth in her muscles as they ached. She had a plan, and she wasn't confined to her room any more with a stomach as huge as a giant's. She could do something, and there was a reason for her to be on the island again.

The ice was eerily silent. The wind still whistled high above, but there were no corridors to echo the voices of hundreds of bandits. There were no currents gently lapping the walls, or strange noises as the wooden floors shrank and cracked in the cold. There were just the gentle sound of footsteps, and as she relaxed into walking again she soon worked out how to silence her steps. As relaxed as her steps were, that didn't stop her nervously checking her belt for the crude recorder she'd tucked next to her dagger. She prayed that she wouldn't need to use either of them.

The ice rose to a natural ridge where an iceberg had been trapped, and she paused for breath, looking around. The lake was completely frozen. There was no way to get through the ice to talk to the Neferii, and nothing stopping the Johi from running across. So why hadn't they? They'd risked drowning when they'd possessed the stone of the bridge, so why not walk across the ice?

She saw steam near the shore, and realised that her answer was there.

The steam wasn't the simple column that a boiling pot would have created, but a string of uneven trails which disappeared into ice crystals almost as quickly as it had appeared. The ice there seemed thinner, and when Daine squinted she realised that it was melted back down to blue. She ran down to it, cursing when she realised that it was further than she'd thought from the ridge. When she was close enough she hid behind an ice-rock, sharpening her eyes so she could see what was going on.

The Johi looked more like children than they ever had before. They had abandoned their guises of fire and smoke and stone, and wore the faces of innocents. Their angelic expressions were slightly odd- it was as if they had only seen real children once before, and couldn't quite remember if the eyes were supposed to be over or under the eyebrows. Most of them had it right, but the ones that didn't were truly horrific. One of them looked like its face had melted, its skin lumpy and uneven and its eyes swollen into slits. They clustered by the edge of the lake, shoving at each other, and occasionally one of them would try and step onto the ice.

Whenever they trod, the ice melted into a column of steam. The child would leap back, jabbering meaninglessly, while the others laughed and started shoving at another one. Daine remembered how Numair had described the ground heating up whenever the Johi ran past. It seemed that it wasn't just the stone that was affected.

The memory crashed into her mind like a sledgehammer, and for a second it was as if she was really there. The ice disappeared, and she was back in the crypt. Keith was still alive, and they were discussing the Johi in animated voices. Daine gasped, mentally dragging herself back to reality. She shook her head, clearing it, but the sudden sound had started a swarm of jabbering from the shore. She'd been spotted.

The girl looked up. As one, the children snapped back into their elemental forms, snarling and shrieking with the same piercing tone they'd always had. But they were trapped on the shore, and even as close as she was Daine realised she was safe. This was a perfect time to test her idea.

She walked as close to the melted pool of ice as she dared, staring down the creatures. They ran in circles, climbed on each other, clawed at rocks with their razor sharp fingernails and grimaced at her. Her standing still seemed to have no effect, they simply wanted to destroy her, but she could see that their eyes were darting across her. They couldn't see her, they could only hear her.

"I'm not afraid." She said with her voice and her mind. A couple of them paused, jabbering at each other in that same meaningless language, but they didn't lose any of their murderous rage. Daine smiled and stayed still, watching them carefully. They had reacted. They had heard her. Whether they understood was another matter. But at least now she knew she could try. She kept trying to talk to them, her voice soothing, watching them for the small signs that they might be taking it in.

There- suddenly, at the back of the crowd, a flicker as one of the fire creatures stared at her with warped human eyes. And just as suddenly, it was gone.

Daine was about to try again when the ice she was standing on cracked sharply. With a cry, she threw herself towards the more solid ice, hearing the creaking snaps as shards of frozen water started flying through the air. The Johi laughed, their screaming violent laughter ringing against the percussive snapping, and any link she'd had with any of them was broken.

The ice groaned as she reached the boulder. She caught her breath, trying to regain her balance on the slippery surface, and suddenly the invasive memory returned. This time it wasn't something she'd recalled, but some memory from when she was a little girl. A puppy had slipped down a bank and couldn't climb up, shivering in the frozen slurry. She'd climbed down to get it, slipping away from her grandpa and coating her dress in the grey ooze. For some reason she thought she wouldn't slip, but she did, and the mud sucked at her feet just as it had the puppy's. She picked up the dog anyway, tucking him neatly into her apron, and tried to climb back up. The ice burned her hands. She looked up, tears in her eyes, and shouted with relief when grandpa's sturdy hand appeared, ready to pull them both to safety. She took it, and...

...and the water seeped over her fur-covered feet, soaking them, as the ice she was on tilted horribly and groaned its way towards the bottomless lake water. Daine screamed and clung to the boulder, clawing her way past it and cursing herself for standing there like an idiot. The ice creaked for a second and then snapped, showering her with shards and drops of water. She regained the thicker ice and watched as a single crack snaked from the sinking pool, straight towards her.

No other cracks. No reason for the ice to be breaking. Paralysing memories. Something was trying to make her fall into the frozen lake. She could guess who. The ice which had suppressed the spell was too thin here, and she had used her magic. He knew she was here. She needed to get back to thicker ice, to the island.

She turned, and ran.

888

Daine stopped short in the doorway, barely feeling the wash of heat from the fireplace as she took in the people in the room. Seven or eight men, broad-shouldered and each taller than Emma by at least a foot, were lounging around the fire. The healer was huddled in the corner, looking pale but unhurt, with her eyes following the men warily. They passed a jug of something that smelled sharply of alcohol to one another, laughing and joking, but it wasn't their drinking that made Daine's blood run ice-cold in her veins. The men were passing a second bundle around the circle, hands that were clumsy with drink and calloused with fighting. She ran forward and tried to snatch it, barely breathing. They laughed as the one holding it automatically held it away.

"What are you doing here?" She demanded, voice shrill with fear, "Let go of my baby!"

"We're greetin' the newborn." One of the men raised the jug in a toast and took a gulp. The other men laughed.

"Aye, 'tis a happy occasion." The man holding Sarralyn held her up at arm's length, studying her closely while holding her above where Daine could reach. "We promised Elan we'd look after his babe, if anything happened, like. So we thought we'd check in."

Sarralyn woke up at the unfamiliar gravel of the man's voice and made the whining sound that meant a screaming fit was going to happen soon. Daine blinked, forcing herself to calm down enough to look the man dead in the eye, and then said through gritted teeth.

"Fine, you've seen her. Now please give me my daughter."

The man grinned at her, his eyes completely humourless. "Now sweetie, we've not all seen her yet, and you're talkin' like you own her or something. You know she belongs to Elan, same as we do. And he told us we were the... uh... whaddeya...?"

"Guardy-yans." One of the other men chipped in, looking proud of the power his encyclopaedic mind had at overcoming alcohol. The first man nodded seriously and handed the baby to the next guard, folding his arms when they were empty.

"Aye, 'tis that. Right honoured by it, we were. So we're guardy-yannin' now, checkin' she's bein' raised by the right people, and that." He leaned in closer, taking in the ice that had half-melted in the furious girl's hair. "Been outside, have you love?"

Every cell in Daine's body was telling her to tear these men to shreds. Grow claws, grow teeth, grow thick skin and sharp scales. Do something. She shook with the effort of keeping calm, knowing that any reaction would just make these men worse, and shape shifting would betray her. As frantic as her thoughts were, a cold part of her mind told her that these men were armed, they were huge, and that they outnumbered her seven to one. And that they were carrying her fragile baby in hands that were already numbed by drink. If they started fighting they could drop her, or hurt her, and not even realise they were doing it.

Sarralyn saved herself. Her thin, nervous whinging had turned into an impressive wail, which had the man holding her looking rather nervous. The other guards were joking at his awkwardness, but when he held the baby out for them to take they refused. She squirmed in the calloused grip and waved her pudgy fists in the air, and screamed.

The sound seemed to amplify in the closed room. Perhaps it was just the sick memories of death and struggle, but for a split second the noise was a hundred Johi, crowding around for the kill. As one, the men in the room paled. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone. Sarralyn still screamed, but it was just the voice of a frightened baby.

"She needs to be fed." Daine found her voice again, feeling the iron band of fear that had been constricting her lungs loosening as the men visibly lost confidence. She looked the lead guard squarely in the eye, making her own expression as blank as she could. "Are you guardians going to do that, too?"

One of the other men sniggered behind his hand as the first guard reddened. The man holding the baby glanced between them, but waited for the leader's curt nod before he held the girl out, relief clear in his eyes. Daine forced herself not to snatch the child away, but couldn't stop her hands from shaking when she finally got Sarralyn back. The lead guard noticed, and a smirk appeared across his flush-mottled cheeks.

"We'll be back," he said cheerfully, "When we've found a nursemaid, like. You'd better get used to that idea, Mistress Arra." He nodded mockingly and followed the other men out, the noise of cheerful mockery starting up again when they reached the corridor. Daine breathed out fully when the door shut behind them, clutching Sarralyn so tightly that she could feel her tiny heartbeat. It wasn't racing nearly as fast as her own.

"It won't happen again, I promise; I promise; I swear it, I won't let them touch you again..." she whispered, barely aware that she was speaking out loud. The baby protested against being squashed, and Daine relaxed slightly, jumping when a hand rested lightly on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Emma said, her normally-brassy voice thin. "They all arrived at once, and I couldn't..."

"It's fine." Daine heard her own voice from far away, surprised at how normal she sounded. "It would have happened eventually anyway. Elan's given them all of his hatred of me, and none of his subtlety about it." She wiped Sarralyn's eyes with the edge of her sleeve, clearing away most of the tears. The infant had stopped wailing when she'd realised she was back with her mother, but she still hiccupped the occasional sob. Daine sat down so she could feed her, thinking seriously.

"Did you hear the... the crying?" She asked Emma carefully. The healer hesitated and then nodded. Daine looked down at the baby, whose tiny fingers curled as she suckled, and wondered if she'd just imagined her screaming like a Johi.

The guards had heard it, too.

"That can't be good," she said, almost to herself. One of Sarralyn's hands gripped her finger. Daine told herself she wasn't looking at the miniature nails to see if they were turning into claws. She tried to dismiss the thought as some kind of hormonal paranoia, but it wouldn't go away. She thought about the sickening mass of thorn-pierced magic that had warped Elan's mind into something monstrous, and felt sick.

By the time Numair arrived back, half an hour later, Sarralyn had sunk into a deep, contented sleep, and Daine's mind was totally made up. She waited until Emma was busy in her makeshift workshop, and then told Numair her plan in a few simple words, waiting for the inevitable explosion when it sank in. It didn't take long.

"You've actually gone mad." He started to throw up his hands, and then realised the gesture was overly dramatic and settled for a level scowl instead. "You can't possibly be considering..."

"I'm not considering, I've decided. The lake's frozen over- I can walk across it." If I stay away from the melted bits, she added mentally. "If I start at dawn then I can get to the city by noon, and then..."

"...and then you'll be eaten by a condor, or burned to a crisp by the Johi, or you'll freeze." Numair ran a hand through his hair, leaving an anxiously tangled line in his wake. Some part of the conversation resurfaced, and his eyes narrowed. "How do you know you can walk across the lake?"

Daine didn't answer. She waited in complete silence until Numair had stopped pacing, which took a while, and kept waiting while he calmed down, which took even longer. It probably didn't help that she spent the time calmly packing the warmest clothes Emma had been able to find into a bag, and adjusting the straps on a fleece-lined sling so it would fit across her back snugly.

"I'm not going to argue," She said quietly. "Like I said, I've decided. You can be angry if you like, or you can listen to why and then try to talk me out of it."

He grinned crookedly, no humour in it at all. "I used that trick on the bandits earlier, Daine. Saying stupid things in a calm voice is only convincing if you're speaking to people who don't listen properly."

"Then listen. I thought we could solve this riddle here, on the island. King What's-his-name only came here to die. If there was a clue it'd be here, and it is... the spell is, I mean. But I can't solve it. I can't talk to the Neferii anymore. There's really no reason for me to be here, and there's no work for me to do. If I go onto the mainland I can look for the sculptures, and I can watch the Johi. The Neferii are acting strangely because of Elan; I want to find out if the Children are doing the same. They can't see me, because I don't have magic. And they won't see Sarralyn either. I mean, she's too young to even be tested."

His expression darkened. She'd omitted this part of her plan, hoping that he'd just assume that she'd take Sarralyn with her. But... no. If his voice was quiet now it was because he was genuinely angry.

"You're not taking Sarralyn with you. And you're not going. But no, of course you'll ignore me. There's that glint in your eyes, the one that you get when you're determined to do something so stupid... No. If you want to be a little idiot with your own life, that's fine. But at least wait until the child's old enough to choose whether she wants you to gamble her life like a pack of rigged cards."

"Fine. I won't go." Daine shrugged and shoved her pack away, letting the clothes she'd been packing spill out heedlessly. "I'll stay here for the next few decades, since we'll never solve this perishing place. Sarralyn won't, of course, because as soon as she's weaned Elan's bodyguards are going to take her away to be raised as the daughter of their leader by someone they actually trust... but I wouldn't worry about that either, because by the time they get to her the ambient magic around here will probably have warped her mind more than they ever could."

She'd chosen words to hurt him on purpose, and she instantly felt sorry for it. Even though she'd been thinking them since that frightening scream, saying them out loud made her feel ill. Numair had paled too, hearing about the bodyguards. Something suspicious whispered in Daine's mind. He'd hardly reacted at all to hearing about the spell. She narrowed her eyes.

"You knew, didn't you?" She breathed, barely able to shape the words. "You knew about the cursed spell." He didn't answer, but looked away for a split second-enough. Daine stared at him, and abruptly pulled her bag back to start packing.

"Daine." A pair of hands tried to take the bag away from her; she shook them off with a glare and kept packing. "Daine, we can deal with the bodyguards."

"I don't care about them." She said coldly, still packing. "I care about the spell. And you knew. You knew it could do that. It's magic, isn't it? Proper magic. Not much point explaining it to hedge witches and wild mages, is there? It's not like we would understand. It's not like we could protect ourselves, even if we did know about it, isn't that right?"

"You're being unfair. I've never treated you like that." Numair's voice gained an edge, and he stopped trying to halt her packing. Daine stopped anyway so she could glare at him, hardly even aware that her eyes were blazing.

"Then why in the black god's name didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew you'd leave!" He yelled back, "You would've got Ghada to take you back across the lake, and made yourself ill foraging and hunting in winter, and been completely alone when... when the baby came. You'd be scared of the magic hurting the baby, and not thinking about the cold, or the condors, or a hundred other things that could hurt a newborn just as much, and never once thinking about what was hurting you."

Daine breathed in sharply at that and looked away, feeling the truth in it just as much as the accusation. But... he's wrong... he lied to me... he doesn't understand...

The thoughts didn't shape themselves into words. They hurt too much. In her trapped silence, Numair kept speaking, his voice quieter now but sharp in its raw emotion.

"Do you want the truth, Daine? I worked out the spell was living before you even crawled out of the lake, half-dead, barely alive enough to walk down to the crypt, but still apologising for not protecting the baby... how do you think I felt? You were always going to put her life before your own; you do it for animals, so of course you'd do it for Sarralyn. And what if I'd told you? I could easily be wrong. It could be perfectly harmless... but you'd be more than willing to believe that the spell was dangerous at the first word, and you'd have disappeared. I thought... I thought that I could destroy it before it could hurt you, and that at least you'd be nearby. I thought I could protect you."

She stared at him, torn between betrayed fury and the open pain in her heart. He was right, so completely right about her that it was infuriating. But he still should have told her the truth. He was the only person she really trusted on this gods-forsaken rock of an island, and finding out he'd been lying to her for so long was like being stabbed through the heart with an icicle. She wanted to stay, she wanted to so badly that she could barely breathe, but she knew that if she did, she'd never forgive herself. But how could she say that out loud? The words just didn't exist. If she tried to say them they'd wither in the air.

"You can't go." He told her again, seeing the decision forming on her face and instinctively reaching for her. She smiled sadly and stood up.

"But you already knew I was going to. Of course I'm going."


	34. Reinforcement

The strangers were closer, climbing through the rocks like insects. Daine bit her lip as she stared down at them, wondering what to do. She should warn them, but she didn't want to get trapped with them. If they had Gifted with them, the Johi would be drawn to them like moths to a flame, and they were close enough to the city now that the creatures would actually notice. The strangers had been lost for days, their voices raised and echoing from the rocks as they got irritated, but always staying far enough away that they weren't a threat. Until now.

Daine knew these mountains like the back of her hand. She had to; she realised as soon as she stepped out of the city that if she stumbled into a dead end or met an impassable ravine she would be dead. It wasn't even the Johi that would kill her. There weren't many blizzards, but when they did strike they were sudden and cruel. The wind from them had been strong enough to echo through the cave, but it wasn't until she was standing on the mountains that Daine learned just what that meant. The wind blew cruel snow into her eyes and took her breath away, even tearing at the thick cloths that tied Sarralyn to her back as if the wind was trying to steal the baby away. Daine quickly became adept at spotting places to shelter in a hurry, and reading the clouds for the telltale yellow tinge that spelled a storm.

She knew the mountains, then, and after only a few weeks she could move through them swiftly. The Johi seemed to have boundaries, from what she could tell- they didn't cross certain points unless something took their interest beyond them. She had only seen them cross over once, and that was because they were chasing a hare. She shivered, remembering its screams of terror against their cruel laughter. When they were being sadistic they looked the most like real children.

Yes, she should definitely warn the strangers before they got any closer. But what if they thought she was a threat? What if they were bandits, and they saw her as a spy or a troublemaker? If they decided to capture her she would be stuck around them, with their magic making her far too visible to the Johi.

Sarralyn, with her usual wonderful gift of timing, chose that moment to start fretting. It was a small noise, but it was enough. One of the strangers looked up sharply, and Daine knew she'd been spotted even as she ducked back behind the rock. Damn it. The sounds of their walking faded- the leader called a halt- and the girl took a deep breath at the sound of weapons being loosened in holsters.

"You want to tell them, do you Sa?" Daine muttered wryly. She checked her daughter was tied securely to her back before she started climbing down, careful on the stones. It took longer to climb down than the strangers were probably expecting; the path was loose with dusty scree, and Daine backtracked from the cliff edge for quite a way before she found a safe route down. The sound of falling stones and a cloud of dust marked her arrival, and by the time she got to where the strangers had stopped they were waiting for her.

It was strange. They were in a completely new land, meeting a complete stranger, and yet not one of them reached for their weapon. Most of them were leaning against the walls of the ravine, chatting and laughing with each other and barely looking up. There was no threat in their expressions. Their leader was more wary, standing in a carefully non-threatening way, but obviously tense beneath the layers and layers of cloth they were wrapped in against the cold. Just like Daine, they had all tied thin cloth over their noses and mouths to ward away the dust, but the leader's sparking violet eyes were unmistakable.

Daine gasped, startling some of the other people to their feet. "Alanna?"

The eyes narrowed, but there was no recognition in them. Daine hastily tore off the cloth around her face, and her headscarf. "It's me, Alanna!"

The eyes turned up in a grin, and the lioness copied her action. "Daine! We were wondering when we'd run into you!" She beamed at her for a moment, and then nodded to one of the men behind her. If Daine had thought the strangers were relaxed before, she suddenly realised it was an act. The tension broke, and they started taking supplies out of their packs.

"Wait- don't make camp here. It's not safe." Daine said quickly, talking to Alanna but making her voice loud enough for all of them. The knight looked at her quizzically, but smiled and turned around to the others.

"You heard her, lads. Time for a bit of a walk!"

"We've been walking." One of them moaned melodramatically. His friend punched him lightly in the shoulder, setting off another round of teasing. They weren't in armour, but Daine realised that they were all soldiers, battled-hardened and totally nonchalant at the idea of being in danger. Their casual playfulness made her realise just how wary she'd been for the past weeks, on her own. If she didn't see a condor in time, one of them would spot it before it could attack her. The thought made her smile.

Alanna didn't miss the expression. "You can tell me everything when we've found somewhere to camp." She said gently, going to hug the girl. She stopped when the bundle on Daine's back wriggled, and raised an eyebrow when she noticed the baby. "Picking up strays again, Daine? She's a bit bigger than that monkey you rescued. Where's her mother?"

"I'm her mother." Daine didn't realise she sounded exasperated until the words were out, and then shook her head in apology. Alanna barely noticed the tone, although something of the words got through to her. She laughed disbelievingly.

"You? But... she's only a few weeks..." She blinked and looked around, seeing how serious Daine was and how, even when she was surrounded by soldiers, she was still watching the cliffs warily. The girl looked subtly older, her eyes bright but tired, and she definitely wasn't joking. Alanna's own eyes started turning dangerously amethyst as the news sunk in. "If Jon knew you were pregnant when he sent you here, I'll nail his toes to Castle Olau. If he's lucky I'll detach him from them first."

"I didn't know either. Don't be angry; we don't need more fighting around here." The girl smiled and gave her friend a hug. "Like you said, I'll tell you everything when we're camped, if you tell me why on earth you're here, too. I'll lead you to a place that's safe."

It took a long time to reach, and then the telling took hours. Alanna wasn't the sort of person to listen quietly, and interrupted constantly in her impatience to ask questions. Daine skipped a great deal, speaking only about the bandits and the immortals and not mentioning Kyprioth's game, but it was still the early hours of the morning before she'd finished. Alanna looked as if she wanted to hear the whole thing again, to check details and somehow unravel the mess, but stopped when one of the soldiers yawned pointedly. She smiled crookedly and ran both hands through her cropped hair, messing it up.

"I'm sorry," She told Daine, "You must be tired."

"No," The girl glanced around, feeling oddly peaceful. "It's been a long time since I've spoken to anyone. This is...nice."

"Tell that to the condors," one of the men muttered sleepily. Daine looked up automatically, and then rolled her eyes. The place she'd brought them too was too open for a single person, but when she'd seen the cluster of huddling trees she'd realised how sheltered it would be for a group. Even if the condors did appear, they'd get caught in the branches.

"They don't hunt at night," she said. "Didn't the bandits tell you?"

"Bandits?" Another man spat in the fire and returned to paring his fingernails with his knife. "What bandits?"

"By the coast. You said you landed at the beach?"

"Deserted." The sleepy man waved a hand. "They left a few buildings and some half-tilled fields, that was all. They've gone. Can't say I blame them. There's nothing here but rocks and dust."

"Then... why are you here, near the city?" Daine asked him, and turned to look at Alanna, confused. The woman was lying in the warm dust next to the fire, her hands linked behind her head as she stared at the sky.

"We intercepted a message. It was being carried on a coastal wind, high up, but we spotted the magic that had been used to keep it airborne. And the wind was blowing from this island. So we grabbed it. We hadn't heard from either of you since you left, and we thought maybe you'd sent it." She shrugged, an awkward movement that disturbed the dust. "It wasn't from you, obviously, but it was from the island, and whoever sent it was quite persuasive."

"What did it say? Was it in... in sailor's symbols?" Daine tried to remember the word 'nautical' and gave up. Alanna nodded.

"It said: Hundreds massacred. Great magic. Trapped on island. Send help. Jon thought it might be time to send in some more troops. From what you've told us, he was right."

"He was wrong," Daine said, mentally cursing Keith and at the same time overjoyed to have some connection to home. "You have to stay away from the city. It's too dangerous for you. You have magic, and they can see you. They'd kill you like... like they were blowing out a candle."

"Unlikely," Alanna said, not really listening. The girl rolled her eyes and grabbed at her friend's sleeve, not noticing the automatic glare this caused.

"No, really. The stronger you are, the more they go for you. There's one place that's safe in the city, but I can't get you there. You were... when I found you, you were just about to cross into their territory. I've never seen them hunt this far out, but it could easily happen."

"Is that why Numair's not with you?" Daine hesitated before she nodded- not a massive pause, but enough for one of Alanna's eyebrows to raise inquiringly. "He's not hurt, is he?"

"No, no. He's fine." The girl said quickly, "He just needed to stay in the city with the spell. If someone else gets infected by it, it would..." she tried to think of a way to explain Elan in a few words and mentally shrugged. "...be very bad."

"Then why aren't you with him?"

"We aren't chained at the hip, you know." Daine had looked away, but she sounded annoyed. Alanna mentally backtracked, realising there was a lot Daine wasn't telling her, and that she definitely didn't want to talk about it. She changed the subject, feeling proud of her unusual tactfulness.

"Well, we're here. Nearly three weeks on a ship- a month! But we're here. What needs to be done?"

Daine smiled and leaned forward. Really, they couldn't have arrived at a better time! She'd mapped the whole mountain range, mentally remembering places where she thought the statues could be, but for every hill she remembered there was a network of caves and tunnels beneath. She'd started exploring them, but it was slow work and easy to get lost. It was made even slower by the time she spent looking after her daughter. Thankfully, Sarralyn had quickly gotten used to the fur-lined sling that Daine carried her in, and would sleep peacefully until hunger woke her up. But there were places Daine couldn't explore because of the child- chasms that she would have climbed or flown down, underground springs that she didn't ford for fear of sinkholes soaking them in icy water. Leaving the baby alone at all was unthinkable, but she found herself getting frustrated with her.

Her search was brought to a sudden halt the day she'd noticed the strangers walking the hills- not because she'd known they were there, but because she had slipped down a steep icy slope, hidden in one of the caves. Twisting rapidly so that Sarralyn wouldn't be hurt, she'd managed to claw her way back up it and out of the cave, catching her breath. It wasn't until a few hours later that she realised that her recorder had slipped out of her belt and disappeared forever down that slope. She'd been looking for the right kind of wood to carve a new one when she'd first caught sight of the strangers.

"I'm looking for some statues." She said, and quickly explained why. It wasn't until she was halfway through that she realised the rest of the soldiers were wide awake, listening intently. Instead of the easy teasing from earlier, they asked serious questions and suggested impressively thought-out plans. Daine glanced at Alanna after one particularly admirable idea, and was rewarded with a laugh.

"Jon said I could bring one unit with me. I think he meant I should just name a troop, but he didn't say it, so..." she shrugged as the men laughed, "I handpicked the best men I knew. Jon can spend his winter training up the rookies."

"Serves 'im right." One of the men said, to general nodding. Daine blinked, confused at the comment. Alanna grinned, and explained as she stoked up the fire,

"After you left, Jon had a... well, a hissy fit. It was rather undignified and very, very funny. He'd already banished you both, but for some reason he decided to announce it in the morning audience. Thayet decided, for whatever reason, not to point out that he was making an ass out of himself. He claimed that you had made a fool of him, and abused his hospitality, and so on. But by the time it got out of the palace the story was that he was treating two of his loyal subjects as servants, and was angry because he couldn't control you. George and I may have helped with that one." She shrugged, not looking ashamed in the slightest. "I was angry too. He didn't even tell me he'd meant to send you away until a few days after you'd gone- and the way he went about it was disgusting. You had to leave your friends, and Kitten, and you didn't even get time to say goodbye..."

"Meanwhile," one of the soldiers chipped in, seeing Alanna's mood blackening and hastily intervening, "Every inn, every tavern, and every market stall was gossiping about your story. Songs were being sung. It sounded like an old folk story- the lovers banished from their home, forbidden love..." he grinned, "...the evil king..."

"So what does Jon do but ban the songs!" Another soldier clapped his neighbour on the shoulder as the man started to hum a ditty. "Which is a sure way to make sure that everyone learned them..."

"...and petitioners started fighting for your return..."

"... and it got so much that Jon had to make a public apology, revoking your banishment and explaining how he was as dumb as a drunken donkey." Alanna finished, and then amended, "I might be paraphrasing slightly there."

"Nah, I definitely heard 'drunken donkey' somewhere in that speech," The nearest soldier nodded and threw a branch onto the fire. The rest of the men nodded, laughing. Alanna winked at Daine, whose eyes had gone as wide as saucers at the story, and finished her tale.

"A few weeks after that we intercepted the message, and Jon jumped on it as a way to redeem himself. I don't know why, this whole thing is still pretty secret. We don't want a riot if people find out there's an ancient weapon which is so dangerous it's taken the black mage nearly a year to figure out what it does. But he sent us. And if looking for the statues will help, then that's what we'll do."

"A year..." Daine echoed, and glanced unconsciously at her daughter. The baby was quite close to the fire, snug in her nest of furs. "It feels like longer. But of course, it must be a year."

"With the pesky weather here I'm not surprised you can't tell." Alanna scowled at the still-frozen ground and scooted a little closer to the fire. "Well, we have a few months before it's a proper year. I bet we can finish this mess up before that."

888


	35. Molten Screams

"Well, aren't you in a good mood."

"Not now, Tyro." Numair glared at the table he'd just kicked. The ancient wood crumbled around a definite boot print on one leg. It had deserved its fate. A piece of paper had willingly disappeared right when he needed to study it, and it was definitely the table's fault. As if it was mocking him, the leg shuddered and snapped, toppling the entire structure and throwing its contents across the floor. He cursed loudly and kicked at the spilled papers too.

"Why not now? Why are you always so damn busy that you can't talk to me?" Tyro's voice was cheerful, but it held an edge. Numair scowled as the rogue sheet of vanishing paper revealed itself, hidden under a clay bowl which rolled harmlessly into the corner. He picked it up, nearly dropped it, and cursed again.

"Is that a letter from Daine?" Tyro recognised the thin scrap of paper. Before Daine had left she'd spoken to a colony of bats who lived in the cave ceiling. They'd agreed to carry messages between the two mages if she helped them to hide from the Johi. The creatures were sadistic to human and animal alike, and so many of the bat clan had been snatched from the air that they were willing to listen to the human's advice. Daine had agreed willingly, suggesting they roost in safety on the island. Even the bats were shocked at the idea- the animals on the island had the same ingrained idea of sacred land as the humans, and it was difficult to talk them out of it.

Once they were comfortable with the idea she'd told Tyro about it. She told him she didn't like using him as a go-between, but talking about anything to do with leaving to Numair would start another fight. The captain had grinned crookedly and waved aside the thin pieces of paper she'd managed to scrounge.

"Thank you for actually telling me something about what you're doing, and all that," he said, "But I won't be a courier. That man is fair dangerous when he's angry."

Daine blinked at him. "He's not angry at you."

"He will be, if he thinks I'm helping you do something he sees as foolish... which I don't necessarily think," he held up his hands, backtracking rapidly from the expression in her eyes. "I'm very, very definitely not taking sides. You tell him yourself."

Tyro didn't hear the resulting conversation, and Daine left very early the next day before he could ask her about it. Based on the state of the table Tyro guessed that, once again, it had turned into an argument.

"It's a report about territory boundaries. That's all. Just a report." Numair reeled off the words grudgingly, and handed Tyro the paper. It had the look of being read many times, although Tyro was too diplomatic to mention it.

"So it's a report. She only had an inch of space to write in. What were you expecting, a poem?" His eyes narrowed shrewdly as he put the paper down on a ledge. "Or maybe an apology?"

"That's not funny." Numair looked like he was going to add the 'none of your business' cliché, and then stopped himself. Tyro threw up his hands and leaned against the wall, hands in pockets.

"And what do you write back?"

"Reports." The man admitted, and smiled bitterly. "I notice you're not taking sides."

"Eh, there are more important things for me to worry about." Tyro kicked the bowl back across the floor. It made a ringing sound against the glazed tiles. "Rumours abound, as you'd expect. They're wondering if Arra's gone the same way as Elan, and who will be next. Her disappearing has made you look a lot more innocent, at least. But all this gossiping... well, the people need something to do, and I can't have them making pan flutes forever. At the moment they're kind of in awe of you, so if you have any suggestions..."

"We need to get them off the island, at least." Numair said absently, picking up the piece of paper and dropping it again when he noticed Tyro's expression. "What?"

"Off. The island." The man laughed shortly, "After all the trouble we took getting them here? There's some saying that the palace is their gods-given birthright, kept safe for them... it's too perfect, too convenient for them to leave. You think they'll be desperate to get off the island when the Johi are just as desperate to get to them?"

"What?" The man asked again, this time more sharply. Tyro frowned and made a meaningless gesture.

"The Johi. They're trying to kill us, remember?"

"But... they're not." Numair said slowly. "They were always on their way to the lake. We were just the fodder they visited along the way. They wanted to get to the island." He bit his lip and stared out of the doorway, watching the inky blue water swirling in the night. "And the Neferii didn't want to kill us, they just wanted to keep us away from it."

"So what? At the end of the day you don't ask who made the arrow that shot you, you just shoot back." Tyro shrugged, but his eyes were bright. He'd learned to recognise the tone Numair used when he had an epiphany. The last time he'd heard it was when they'd worked out how to cross to the island, and now it looked like he'd found a way off it. Sure enough, when the mage looked up at his friend his eyes were shining.

"I'm an idiot!" he declared happily. "I'm a stupid, half-blind fool!"

"Nice to know." The other man muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Can you lose the dramatics? It's too late at night for them."

Numair pulled a face at him, not put off by the dryness of that comment. "I know how to destroy the spell! Elan only took half of it, because only half of it was the Neferii's spell. The other half belongs to the Johi. If we bring them to the island, they will claim it. And you're right; we don't want them 'making arrows' with it." His voice accelerated as it raced to keep up with his thoughts. "But both halves of the spell will be claimed. They'll be being used. They won't set the air on fire if we call on our Gifts... And then we can attack the carriers of each half. The spell should weaken as they do."

"And who will carry the other half? Elan was human first." Tyro spoke carefully. Numair made a dismissive gesture.

"The Johi can take it, I'm sure. They wouldn't be so desperately trying to reach the island if they couldn't carry the spell away with them if they ever got here." His expression darkened. "Elan was just an idiot."

The captain clicked his tongue against his teeth, thinking rapidly. Apparently this wasn't rapid enough, since Numair kept trying to interrupt his thoughts with new comments. But the man was quiet when he held up a hand, and he watched the shifting water on the ceiling as he pondered peacefully.

"It seems to me," he said slowly, "that getting my people off this island might be a good idea. It sounds like it's soon going to be overcrowded."

888

Daine woke up quickly when the slight weight thudded onto her shoulder. The bats were nervous enough at the moment without all the strange humans around, and the tiny mammal clung to her shirt tightly, looking for protection. She smiled and greeted it, stroking its head until it calmed down and held out a foot for her to take the message it carried. The paper was heavier than usual, and she frowned at the extra pages. The bat peeped once, seeing that she was distracted, and took wing before the misty dawn became dangerous day. Daine called a thank-you after it and unfolded the message.

The writing was tiny. Numair had a lot to say. She frowned and took it closer to the fire, starting to build it up so that it would be bright enough to read by. When it was blazing merrily she settled down beside it and read the rapid scrawl.

She was so engrossed that she didn't notice the others were waking up until Sarralyn started crying. It started as the simple whinging that she used when she wanted feeding, but what really shocked her mother into reality was when it abruptly snapped into full screams. She looked up, her eyes wide, and saw that one of the men was holding the baby. He sat close enough to the fire to hold her competently, and was trying to soothe her, but her crying got worse and worse.

The man looked up as she walked towards him. "I'm sorry," he said, "She was crying, so I thought she might want to be held."

Daine shrugged, about to answer with something wry, when Sarralyn switched her wailing up another gear. Every person clustered around the camp site clapped their hands to their ears as the primal scream rang into their ears and their minds. Daine could see Alanna swearing out of the corner of her eye, the rich sailor's-talk drowned out by the tiny infant. The man holding the baby had gone pale, but he still rocked her to try and soothe her.

Daine kneeled down next to them, laying a cool hand on the baby's forehead. The little girl's face was screwed up and red, almost warped by her screaming.

"Sarralyn," Daine made her voice stern, but still soothing. "Stop this nonsense! What do you have to scream about?" There was no way the baby could hear her, but she recognised her mother's touch and hiccupped back a sob, still grizzling but stopping that ungodly scream. Daine took her from the soldier, smiling reassuringly at his stricken expression, and tapped the baby's nose gently.

"You really need to learn how to meet new people," she said, making a joke of the whole thing. The soldiers laughed uneasily; Alanna looked less convinced and stared at the baby when she thought Daine couldn't see her. The girl kept talking to Sarralyn in a low voice until she was breathing more evenly, and then looked up at the man. He looked guilty.

"She had a bad time with some bandits recently." She explained, "It's not your fault she's acting up. What's your name?"

"Err... Allard." The man looked surprised at the question. Daine grinned and held the baby into a more upright position, so she could look at the man she'd been screaming at.

"Here, Sa, this is Allard. He's right happy to meet you." Sarralyn blew a bubble and waved a hand around- a meaningless movement, but Allard took the hand and bowed his head over it like he was meeting a noble lady. The soldiers laughed again, and the baby didn't scream at him this time. The soldier smiled and stood up, dusting off his clothes and looking a lot less guilty as he joined the men. Entertainment over, they started packing up the camp, averting their eyes as Daine fed her daughter.

"That wasn't normal," Alanna started, sitting next to her. Daine blinked at her, and made an empty gesture with her free hand. The knight sighed inside- here was yet another thing that she wasn't going to be told about. Instead of pressing the point, she drummed her heels into the dirt absently and asked about the note she'd seen the girl reading. "Does it change what we have to do?"

"No, not really." Daine smiled brightly. "He's worked out how to break the spell, but we still need to find the statues. We can't fight the Johi without them."

"It was from Numair, then." Alanna was just thinking out loud, but the response was quite sharp.

"Of course. Who else do you think talks to me? Keith's dead, and Elan's at the bottom of the lake. Everyone else just whispers about me when they think I can't hear." She snapped out of it in time to see the faint confusion on the knight's face, and explained quickly, "Keith's the one who sent the message you found, but we don't know who he was spying for."

"And Elan?" The woman saw the flash of loathing dance across Daine's face when she spoke the name, and asked the question carefully. Daine had only explained that he was the leader of one of the tribes, and that he had become a Neferii- but from the way she spoke about him there was much more to the man. The girl wiped Sarralyn's face with a scrap of cloth and stood up, looking for somewhere to change her.

"I'm sorry," She said, over-polite, "can we talk about that later?"

Alanna nodded, knowing as well as Daine did that once they set off there would be no 'later'. They packed up the camp as quickly as they had built it, covering the fire pit and the most obvious signs that they'd been there with the ease of long practice. Daine lead them out of the copse through a different route than they'd taken to reach it, explaining that she was taking them to one of the most likely places she'd found so far. It was a network of caves she'd seen the creatures lurking nearby a few times, always at the same time in the evening. They'd lurked in other places- where there were things for them to play with. Daine had found the mangled bones of their animal victims in all of them, but no statues. If the creatures were keeping to their normal routine then the caves would be deserted for at least a few hours.

The other reason she chose those caves was because she'd seen a group of trees which might have the right kind of soft resonating wood she needed to make a new recorder. She told the soldiers that, and was rewarded with complete bafflement.

"Well, can you sing?" She asked them easily, already comfortable with their relaxed sense of humour. Rather predictably, three of the men struck up a bawdy drinking song, dramatically harmonising the chorus and waving their arms in time to the beat. Soon the other men were joining in, some of them making the appropriate hand gestures with some of the more obscene lyrics with all of them laughing at the innuendos. Alanna realised that glaring at this display wasn't going to achieve anything, and instead threw a rock at one of the ringleaders.

"Stop messing about, Kray." She said, her own lips twitching in suppressed amusement as he mimed falling backwards from the force of the mighty rock which had conquered him. He leapt back to his feet, nodded his head in an easy bow, and started walking in line again. Alanna caught up to the front of the line so she could ask questions more quietly. "Daine, what does singing have to do with... with anything?"

"The only thing that will stop them from attacking you is music. I don't know why," the girl shrugged, "I've tried talking to them so many times, but they live in a mob. For every one that listens to me, another ten will start screeching. When they do that, you run. If you get trapped or you're slow, you play music and hope like hell that they'll find something else to do before they lose interest in the music and kill you."

"Will singing work?"

"Not if you all sing like that. Sorry," She grinned an apology to the men, most of who mimed heartbreak back and started bickering to claim the honour of being the worst singer. Kray seemed to win. Apparently being the worst singer was synonymous with threatening to clout the second-worst. When the battle was over they agreed to make a detour to carve out pipes for themselves, mainly to show off their superior carving skills to the lesser men amongst them.

It was a few days later before they saw the Johi for the first time. They'd stumbled upon the edge of a cliff- not a steep chasm, but a sliding incline of scree and dust which fell away from the land into a deep bowl that must once have been a pond. Caves ringed the bowl, some as small as rabbit warrens, others large enough for bears. The stones, loosened by the melting ice which had encased them all winter, slid away from beneath their feet. They all scampered backwards, falling over each other in their haste to get away, and with a yell one of the soldiers disappeared over the edge. The others inched forward to stare over the edge. The soldier rolled with the scree, battered but not broken, and waved sarcastically back up at them from the base of the cliff. The good natured jeers faded abruptly when a shriek pierced the clearing, and another joined it.

This was the first real chance that Daine had to see the soldiers in action, other than their feigned idleness when she'd stumbled into their camp. Throwing all teasing aside, they leapt into action. They did not hurry, but every movement they made was deliberate and considered. One fished a rope from his pack as another ran to find a tree to tie it to. Another calmly assessed the walls of the bowl, finding a spot that was secure enough to pull against, and gestured for the trapped man to wait there. The others stood by the rope, ready to pull at a moment's notice, every spot on the rope filled.

"How fast can you run?" Daine asked swiftly, acknowledged only by the flickers of eyes. She pointed down, where a haze of heat was already starting to melt the ice around the stones. Miniature rock falls started clattering through the clearing. "They'll be able to climb up that."

The men nodded and turned their attention back to their task. The man in the pit looked up as Daine started speaking again, tying the rope around his waist with practiced movements and drawing out the recorder as an afterthought.

"When you play they'll be calm," the girl said, "So it will give you a few extra seconds to run. The gifted should run first." Alanna opened her mouth to interrupt from her place on the rope, and closed it with a snap when Daine scowled at her. "I know what I'm talking about here! They can see the gifted. If you all run away while they're distracted, they'll be chasing the rest of us blind." She pointed at a rock formation a few miles to the south, cradled by the curve of a mountain trail. "We'll meet there... by sunset, I guess. There are no mazes around it, just climb."

Again, the men glanced up and committed the landmark to memory with a single glance, still pulling the rope in rhythm with the others as their eyes were distracted. The soldier reached the top of the scree slope at the same time that the Johi tore out of the caves. Screaming with glee at their new prey, they scrambled towards the man's dangling legs. The soft dust slid under their claws, but for every one who fell back another took its place. The soldier kicked at their outstretched arms, his boots torn to ribbons by razor-sharp swipes, and kicked one of the more solid ones firmly in the head to gain the leverage he needed to drag himself over the lip of the cliff. The child hissed and recoiled, its playful screams turning into livid spitting rage as the others cackled at it.

Daine had thought that convincing these battle-proud men to run away would be difficult, but she hadn't anticipated their strategic sense. With barely a nod to their comrades, the gifted peeled off from the group and scattered, each taking a different route away from the cliff-edge. Even Alanna didn't linger for more than a heartbeat, just long enough to clap one of the ungifted men on the shoulder. He nodded at whatever signal this was and finished coiling the rope back into his bag.

The soldier who had fallen tried to play the recorder he'd dragged from his belt, but the scramble up the cliff had broken it. It made a pathetic squeaking sound, and the end section fell out with a thud. He looked up, shrugged, and drew his sword instead. Looking around, the girl saw that the other men had reached for their weapons- an automatic reaction, but utterly useless. The Johi gained the edge of the cliff, and the men charged forward with a yell. The children fell back, more surprised at being confronted by the wall of sound than frightened, and rolled to the base of the pit with a stream of giggles. They started up the cliff again, darting erratically from side to side as they climbed, as unpredictable as wasps.

The man who Alanna had signalled nodded, and a second group of men peeled off from the group and ran. There were now only five men left, still standing defensively, swords drawn. The leader looked up at Daine and scowled, turning his gaze back to the enemy before yelling over their screams,

"Why aren't you running, girl? Get gone!"

"You're going to get killed!" She yelled back. The men laughed as one, but it held more bravado than humour. She shook her head and drew her own recorder, mentally apologising to Sarralyn for staying in danger. "No, I mean it! I know you're giving the others time to get away, and that's fair admirable, but there's no point fighting them! They don't die!"

One of the men slashed at a Johi who gleamed with the rich brown-greens of the earth. The creature crumbled at the cut and slipped backwards, hissing. The man grinned and pressed the advantage, forcing the child further down the hill. As it rolled away, another one took its place with a face like fire. He dodged its attack neatly, letting the momentum upset the creature's balance and send it tumbling into its earthen comrade.

"We seem to be doing alright," the leader said nonchalantly, dodging an attack of his own. He glanced down into the pit and blinked once- the closest to surprise he seemed to get. Where there had been twenty or so of the monsters before, the pit now swarmed with them. The ground was completely hidden under the writhing creatures, clawing and biting at each other in their haste to climb the walls and attack the men. Still more of them flowed out of the caves, scrambling on top of the others. A few others peeled off from the pack and headed away, obviously looking for a better path up and out of the pit.

The ones who fought each other at the foot of the pit screamed as one as more of the Johi were knocked back down the path. Their frustration was obvious; in faceless anger they tore at the rocks, the ground, the other Johi. Blood and fire and water and powdered earth stained the crowd as they struggled, trapped. And then, as one, they moaned. The change was so sudden that it was terrifying. From the huge crowd of screams there was only one unified voice: the groaning whine of a thousand voices. A few stragglers still tried to climb the edge, forcing the men to keep fighting them back, but when they were knocked down they joined in the moan.

"What are they doing?" One of the men asked, his hair standing on end. Daine shook her head helplessly, staring at the pit. The children looked like they were melting, stuck together in their blood and fury. It was hard to pick out the individuals; they just looked like a molten mess of limbs. Playing music would be useless; they would never hear it over their own eerie noise. She drew her dagger instead. Running away was out of the question- she had to find out what they were doing.

Sarralyn screamed a bare second before an enormous arm leapt from the mass, glinting claws outstretched. It groped blindly at the edge of the pit, scoring gouges metres long which the humans yelled and jumped back from. The limb looked like a chaos creature, made from stone and water and fire and blended into one enormous mass. It reached up to the sky for a second, and crashed down again with the same blind fury.

"What is that?" the leader demanded, taking a step back. The other four soldiers gaped up at it, trying to predict where it was going to crash down next. When it landed it splashed on the ground, sending stray children flying from it. The loose Johi chattered furiously and leapt at the soldiers, not giving them time to think or to watch the massive arm. Without the sliding scree under their feet, the creatures were merciless. The only weakness they had was their blindness, but the soldiers had to look at two enemies at once. One man yelled as a creature scored a vicious slash, and then another. The arm crashed down for the fourth time, and this time caught one of the soldiers on the tip of its claw. With a swirling scream of triumph the claw dragged him backwards, heedless of his scrabbling at the ground for something to cling on to, and flicked him backwards into the pit. His limbs flailed for a moment as he span through the air, and then he disappeared into the mass. The Johi welcomed their pray with open arms.

As the creatures tore at their prize and laughed, Sarralyn screamed louder. The arm wavered above the group again, honed in on the sound, and slammed towards them with deadly accuracy. Daine shrieked and threw herself backwards, feeling the air whistle between herself and those claws. She rolled onto her side as she fell, stopping herself from falling onto Sarralyn, but winced at the jolt as they both crashed into the ground. The claw scrabbled for them as the baby took in this new insult and upped her screaming to the wordless wail. As soon as she made the noise, the claw froze in place. The Johi who formed the hand opened their eyes, glaring down with vibrant, burning emptiness. They did not move, did not scream, they simply stared. And then the burning eyes narrowed. Sarralyn had run out of breath. In the sudden hiccoughing silence, the Johi sniggered.

Daine didn't wait to think about why they had stopped. She scrambled to her feet and ran. She felt rather than saw the soldiers doing the same. The Johi howled as they left, the arm disintegrating into scores of livid children who leapt after them, freed from the pit. Even at the manic pace that they ran with, the soldiers still remembered to split up and go down different paths. The creatures paused at the intersections of the path, sniffing the air loudly and listening for running footsteps. The difference in sound direction seemed to confuse them. After a split second they streamed off down one path.

None of them followed Daine. She was starting to think that that wasn't just a coincidence. With every breath catching in her throat, she ran. Even when she was far away from the pit she didn't slow down. Whatever that monster had been, if it ever thought to grow legs it could catch up easily. She ran until her lungs burned, and then she walked. She didn't rest until she had made it to the meeting place. They were all pale; the ones who hadn't seen what had happened from vantage points on the trail had heard the screams, and waited in a bloodless silence, watching the paths.

Apart from the man who had been dragged into the pit there were three soldiers from the last group who didn't appear. The sun was an orange bar on the horizon by the time two of them were spotted at the base of the cliff, helping each other walk by needling the other about his feeble wounds. The waiting group climbed down towards them, knowing instinctively that the last man would never reappear.

Alanna demanded they set up camp before she healed the two men- they were both dizzy from blood loss, and even healed would need to sleep. As the other soldiers started unpacking in their strange cloud of silence, she beckoned Daine over. The girl was just as ashen as the soldiers. Alanna thought it was shock, not having any way to know that the girl was trying to work out if her daughter was still even human.

"I owe you an apology," She told Daine softly, "When you said those things were dangerous, I should have listened. I thought that if something could be fought with a flute then..." she shrugged and automatically checked her own belt for the instrument she'd grudgingly carved. "Like I said, I'm sorry."

Daine blinked at her, her distant eyes refocusing on the knight. "At least we know where they're hiding the statues, now." She said, her voice just as detached as her thoughts. When she snapped out of it she drew a deep breath, wondering if she'd remembered to breathe since the... thing had appeared. "I don't think we can kill that thing with a flute, either."


	36. Messages

The bats had their own paths through the cavern, scorning the crumbling ledges which the humans clung to like cowardly insects. The air in the cave was deep and sweet, the breath of the water and the mountains mingling into air currents that let them dance through the darkness with barely a flap of the wings. Here, they told themselves, a bat is truly a bat. Not a grounded mouse, trapped inside stale stone walls, nor the half-blind condor-prey of the winter world outside, but a creature of the flying depths. They flocked into the darkness as irresistibly as moths drawn to candles, and for every wing-beat they had to make, they took two more for the joy of it.

Consequently, delivering messages between the two humans took longer than it should have, and each bat found itself taking a rest in the middle of the cave, breathing in the cold air and the darkness before they returned to the dead safety of the island. They felt no guilt about this: as long as the strange scraps of paper got there, they had done more than any normal wild bat. Besides, the scraps confused them. They were always the same- always a scrap of paper with markings on it in burned wood. They watched these markings being made, but even if their dim eyesight had let them make sense of them they could not read. They privately wondered why the humans were not content to keep the scraps they had, and why they had to keep swapping!

They rested above the lake, hearing the gentle lap of the water. The palace was safe, as the human girl had promised, but it wasn't much else. They did not pray, but they all wished fervently for the day when they could truly be bats again.

The listening mind ignored these thoughts, concentrating on those vague images at the back of each mind instead of the irritatingly insipid hopes of the flying rodents. At first it had slipped and fallen from the animal minds, unused to their coppery voices and opaque minds. But it had practiced; its skill grew even as the animal minds became clearer. The mind gloated at the clarity, not knowing that the wild magic which drew them to Daine also cleared some of the innocent fog from their thoughts. But that was not the kind of information the mind was listening for. Such knowledge would have simply added fuel to its resentment against the wildmage.

In the meantime, the mind scoffed at the bats. Intercepting minds was so much easier than intercepting messages, and the bats made it simpler still. They sat within reach, so obliging, and they didn't even feel the claws raking their minds. That morning, the mind read two memories.

The first of the bat's memories was written by the grey light of dawn. The bat had seen little, but even in those shaking images the mind could see that the girl was just as wan as the winter light. If it had to guess- and oh, it did, it loved to imagine the girl suffering- it would have guessed at a sleepless night, spent worrying and fretting and freezing by the pathetic fire. None of the other sleeping shapes moved as she drew a scrap of charcoal from the feeble blaze and blew on it, making sure no spark flared on it before she touched it to the paper. The paper zoomed closer: the bat had flown onto her shoulder. She moved her head so it could nuzzle her cheek briefly, smiling at the greeting, and then looked back at the paper.

The mind wished it could see her face as she wrote those words; it would have been delicious. But the bat stared at the paper with idiotic fascination.

I left too late, the girl wrote slowly, pausing after each word as if she was searching for the proper way to say it. The four words already filled a large part of the paper. The charcoal made a scratching noise as an unburned piece of wood scraped against each word. She screams like a Johi. I don't know what to do. She hesitated, looking at the paper. There was space for another word, maybe two. She moved as if to fold the scrap, and then stopped herself. The last sentence was written rapidly, before she changed her mind: I'm sorry.

Properly folded, the paper was tied to the bat's leg with gentle hands. The bat sniffed at the parchment and took wing, not looking at the girl again until it called farewell, too far away to see her face. The mind shrugged at this small irritation- it could guess her expression easily enough. Those seventeen words had spoken more than all the notes it had intercepted in the past month.

The reply to this letter was even further forward in the rodent's mind: a memory that was only minutes old. This image was less detailed- the replies always were. The friendliness and interest that the bats showed around the girl were replaced with wariness and feigned boredom around the man. In this memory, the bat spent most of his time casually examining the doorframe he was perched on. A dead, withered spider received a thorough sniff, and the mind was treated to a display of flying mucus when the dust made the bat sneeze. The spider writhed in the small blast of air before falling to the ground, and the bat followed its progress with interest.

The mind resolutely kept watching, hoping for even the smallest glimpse of the paper. Even a millisecond could be perfectly recalled. It often missed the replies; the man wrote with an economical swiftness which put the girl's indecision to shame. The bat peeped, and the mind realised that the reply had just been tied to its leg, unseen. Disgusted, it left the creature's mind and returned to its own musing.

In its own shell, the mind thought more clearly. Cunning in life, it had grown into its state of immortal death with malicious ease, and now its broken jaw cracked into a smile. Whatever the reply, one thing was certain: the fight was not over.

888

"Oi, Lioness- we need a fourth man!" The soldier waved a deck of cards at her with one hand, nodding at the other two men who were waiting for him to deal. "Care to join us?"

Alanna stopped walking and looked sternly at one of the men. He was sitting casually in the frozen dust, leaning against a rock as if it was a comfortable chair. Next to him, Kray was picking his teeth with his fingernail and counting out pebbles onto the ground. "Aren't you supposed to be on guard duty, Guy?"

"Swapped it, d'int I." The man said easily, not opening his eyes until one lid sprang open, the eye fixing on her with mock seriousness. "We're playing for pebbles. Is the betting too rich for your stomach, lady knight?"

She laughed and made a point of looking around her. The gully where they'd finally chosen to camp only had a few paths in and out of it, but it made up for that by having a wealth of pebbles, eroded into smoothness by some long-frozen river. The shining stones would have been pretty, if they weren't so constantly underfoot. None of them had passed a comfortable night, and unless she gave the word to move on it looked like they were going to stay here for another. The high walls and sliding stones made it a good defensive place, at least, and Daine had said it was far from the creatures' territory.

The thought made her remember what she'd been about, and she shook her head at the three men. "Sorry lads, I have to turn you down. I just can't return to George just to tell him I lost all our pebbles to a member of the thirteenth. The poor man would be devastated!"

"Aye, but you'd be the one in trouble," Kray retorted. "Didn't he teach you never to leave the house without a handkerchief, your keys and a fifth ace?"

Guy's eyes opened again, this time in mild consternation. "Bless it, and I left my handkerchief at home," he muttered, pretending to ignore the laughter. Alanna joined in, and then beckoned the first soldier over. He handed the cards to Kray and walked with her, not asking what she wanted when she headed back the way she'd come. He wasn't surprised when he saw that she was heading for the wildmage; all the soldiers had noticed Alanna's worry for her friend, even if they would never admit it. Daine looked half-asleep, leaning against a large rock. She was flicking pebbles away with one hand and holding a sliver of paper in the other. Sarralyn was awake beside her but not fussing; the gully broke the wind, and without it the fire-heated air was warmer. Freed from her most confining wraps, the baby was waving her arms with gleeful abandon.

"Daine," Alanna said, as if she was starting in the middle of a conversation. The girl looked up in surprise and smiled a greeting. "Is it alright if Todd here looks after Sarralyn for a while?"

Daine looked confused for a moment, and then smiled at the soldier. He smiled back, trying to look less like a palace-trained killing machine and more like a nursemaid. Apparently it worked, because she nodded and handed the baby to him.

"Excellent!" He declared, nodding a goodbye to the women and walking back to the game. His voice echoed from the stones, "Hey lads, I've found us a fourth player! She can play like my old nanny did- one blink for twist, two for stick..."

"She's blowing bubbles," Kray pointed out, his nonchalant voice carrying. Todd barely broke his stride.

"Well, in that case she... she just doesn't think very much of her hand, I guess." They laughed as they dealt her in, and then their voices lowered as they studied their cards.

Alanna didn't speak right away. This was unusual for her- she was used to having a thought in her head and saying it. But then, she was used to knowing what was going on. Even with everything Daine had told her about this island, she still felt like she knew next to nothing. Waiting for Daine to start a conversation was taking longer than her short fuse allowed: the girl looked like she hadn't slept, and was content to simply sit quietly.

"We're moving out before dawn tomorrow," The knight said eventually. "If we leave before dawn, then we should cross their territory when they're sleeping, right? Then we could get to the cave before nightfall."

Daine looked up, and a rueful expression crossed her face. "Given up on the statues, have you?"

"No." Alanna drew two circles in the dust. "The gifted go to the cave. The ungifted stay and search that pit. When they find them they can call us- we'll leave a speaking spell here, where it'll be safe. And then the gifted won't be baiting the damned things."

The girl nodded slowly. They would need someone who knew the mountains to help with the search. "It makes sense. I'll stay here and..."

"You're coming with us." Alanna said shortly. She'd practiced this strict voice on her own children, but wasn't at all surprised when Daine simply pulled a face at it. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and tried again. "You're coming with us, unless you can give me a damn good reason why not. Your daughter is linked to those things- the men who stayed to face that monster told me what happened, but I heard her screaming myself. She's a liability if we're trying to avoid them. And, Daine, you're a liability to my men. I can't have someone who's not thinking clearly confusing my orders."

Daine opened her mouth to demand what on earth Alanna meant by that, when there was a mocking cheer from the nearby card players, and Guy groaned. "I think our fourth player's devastating beauty is putting me off,"

"Why, thank you!" Kray returned winsomely. This raised another mocking laugh, and then the silence descended again as they dealt in a new hand. By the time they were silent again, Alanna managed to get in the first word- a lot more gently than her last word had been.

"I didn't mean to offend you, and I'm sorry." She tried to think of a delicate way to phrase it and mentally shrugged it off as impossible. "You've been hunting for monsters with an infant child in the middle of winter, without sleep or proper food. Can't you see that... that it's madness? You're running off determination and stubbornness and pure hormones. If I hadn't seen you with my own eyes, I would never believe that Numair would let you do it. So you either have a good reason that convinced him, or you're completely mad and you ran away."

"Or both," Daine sighed and shut her eyes, too tired for this conversation. She opened them again to look at Alanna, almost too weary to be angry at the knight's outburst. "Do you know about the spell? Did I tell you?" She waited for the woman to nod before she continued, "Well, we were trying to solve it for months. Elan walked in on it, and he drained half of it into his own gift in minutes. Minutes. We were around it for so much longer... but Numair thinks it only affects certain people."

"The spell is in two halves- one for the Neferii and one for the Johi. They've been fighting their own war, and somehow this spell is their weapon against the others. Whoever uses it first, wins. The Neferii have their half- they have Elan- but I doubt he's being cooperative. Numair thinks the other half of the spell, the Johi half, is in the statues." She took a deep breath, looking up at the sky as if it held the answer. "I don't."

"What does this have to do with..." Alanna started, and then whitened as she connected the threads of the conversation. "You think the spell got into Sar...?"

"She's just a baby," Daine interrupted, her voice almost pleading. "She's too little to have magic. But I thought... I thought if I took her away, she might stop screaming." She glanced towards the card game, her eyes shining with tears. "She still looks like my baby. She's still..." the flood of excuses stopped as she covered her face. "Oh Goddess, but they all look like children. An empty city, not even any graves... do you think they saw their own children screaming when they sealed them into those statues?"

Alanna hugged her, awkward in her mail and layers of warm clothing. "It could still be the statues. This is one of the reasons we're going to the cave- I want to see this spell. I understand why you don't want to be near it, but..."

"But it wouldn't make any difference now, would it?" Daine finished for her. She wiped her eyes and glanced at the piece of paper she'd been clutching. It was only a few words, but when she'd read it she'd felt all the anger she was holding against him rush away. He was clever with words, and he'd probably done it on purpose, but he'd managed to make the tiny scrap of paper speak with all the love she'd ever heard in his voice, or seen in his eyes when he held her close. And yet the message itself, when paraphrased, was so simple: I love you. Please come back, I need you here with me.

She realised Alanna was waiting for her decision and looked up from the paper. She didn't think it was a coincidence that both these invitations had arrived within an hour of each other. She wondered if Kyprioth had a hand in it somehow, or if it was just a coincidence. Either way, whatever the spell could still do to Sarralyn, there was no way she could refuse both of them. "I'll...we'll come with you."

"Oh, is Sa leaving?" Guy had returned with the baby casually held under one arm. She waved a free hand and made a noise like a kitten, delighted at the strange journey. He gave her back to her mother with a melodramatic sigh. "Probably a good thing, she'd clear us out of pebbles if she stayed..."

888


	37. Rope

Alanna took charge easily, giving direct orders with a smile to the grinning soldiers and only checking with Daine when she wanted some information- such as how long it would take them to get into the Johi territory. It was a relief to Daine that she didn't have to think of plans, and a relief to the soldiers to finally have a plan of action. They hunkered around the fire pit, sharpening their blades absentmindedly while they discussed strategies. The men who were to be left behind boasted of the challenge they would soon overcome, while the others were scampering like cowards for the caves. In their turn, the gifted told the ungifted they were monster food, and should probably carry around some herbs to make the Johi's dinner more enjoyable. They, on the other hand, were to defend the hub of the island from the deadly spell. Snide jokes abounded, none of them hitting home, and by the time they bedded down for their early rise the men were in high spirits.

Before sunset Alanna had drawn the ungifted aside to one of the rocks. She pressed her palm to the stone and frowned, concentrating until the boulder glowed purple. When she took her hand away the stone faded back to a normal grey, until each of the soldiers came forward to press their own palms to its surface. As each man touched it, it glowed again and left the shining outline of their handprint on the surface. When they had all touched the spell, the knight snapped her fingers. The handprints flared brightly for a second, and then disappeared. The spell could be activated again by any one of them touching it, as Alanna showed them: when they touched it, a glowing orb flitted from the rock and sped towards her. She caught it easily, shrugged and then threw it into the air, where it promptly fled back to the rock.

"What if you die?" Guy asked easily, as if he was discussing the weather. Alanna shrugged.

"I'd hope you'd use your own brain and decide what's best." She replied. "I don't want you to wait for orders, anyway. If you find the statues then tell me, but for anything else, you can handle it however you like."

The soldier grinned and checked his sword was free from frost. "That's just what I was hoping for."

The next morning brought a thick mist, different from the snow-laden murk that had brought blizzards, but still eerie. Apparently none of the soldiers were morning people; in a surly silence they clapped each others' shoulders in farewell, and the gifted left. The mist soaked them to the skin, and they walked through the eerie stone hills for hours before they climbed above it and it suddenly cleared in a flare of sunlight. They blinked in the light and stopped, shading their eyes. After weeks of overcast skies, the light seemed violently bright. They skirted the edges of the valleys for a while, letting the sun dry their soaked clothes and warm their skin. The condors seemed to be enjoying the sunlight too; they circled lazily in the sky above them, only swooping down close enough to see the warning glint of arrows before they flew back up again.

They ate as they walked, not stopping for a rest. They preferred being tired to the idea of the Johi catching them. Worn out by the early start, Sarralyn slept deeply in her sling and didn't fuss for food until the middle of the afternoon. Alanna nodded when Daine asked if they could stop, and called out to the men that they were having a privy break.

"I'm a bit worried at the sun," Daine confided to her friend when they stopped. "I crossed the lake because it was frozen, but even when it was snowing constantly there were still melted gaps."

"How did the bandits get to the island? Did they swim?" Alanna asked. Daine shook her head.

"Gods, no! The Neferii would have slaughtered them. No, Numair made a bridge." She smiled, "If you wanted to pass as bandits, that much magic would kind of... give the game away."

"Is there no other way onto the island? You said it's in a cave, right? Are there any holes in the roof?"

Daine blinked and tried to explain how a cave was a small thing, and that the roof of the island was at least a mile above the ground. Alanna waved away the protest until she got a straight answer- yes, there were holes in the roof, they started in the city, and you'd better not be planning what I think you are...

"I don't know what you're scared of," Alanna grinned and flexed her legs, getting ready to walk again. "You're the one who can fly."

A few hours later, as the pinkish sun lit the city, one of the soldiers joined in the argument. Looking down at the hole in the floor, feeling the depths of cold cave air rushing through it, he swallowed and said, "I'm ever so slightly nervous of heights, lady."

Alanna frowned at the hole, trying to work out how strong the edges were. "Then, Markus, today will not be your favourite day." She poked at the stone and scowled as the edge crumbled, as if it had done it to taunt her. The whole city had put her nerves on edge- perhaps it was only what Daine had said about its dead children the night before, but there was an unsettling heaviness in the air, and the blood-red splashes of paint on the walls did nothing to help. Creepy or not, she couldn't attach anything to this crumbling mess without reinforcing it first. Closing her eyes, Alanna tried to concentrate while Markus kept whispering frantically to the other men.

"But- what if we fall?"

"Just try not to," one of the other soldiers hissed back, watching Alanna's spell-casting with interest. As military mages, the men were still excited at the chance to learn from the legendary warrior mage- even if she had spent more time being seasick than summoning spells so far. Markus turned back to Daine, his pupils tiny scared dots in his wide eyes.

"How far down is it, miss?" He asked. Daine looked up from tightening the sling straps that were tied around her waist. If Sarralyn made any sudden moves it could send her off balance. The baby mewed at being held so tightly, but made no other protest. She opened her mouth to tell the truth, and then stopped at the sudden chorus of faces the other soldiers were pulling at her from behind Markus' back.

"You'll be fine," she told him instead, and smiled. "Just don't look down. It'll seem a lot higher than it really is, honest."

The ground rippled for a moment, and they all staggered at the slight shock. Alanna stood up, dusting off her knees absently. The crumbling ground had turned to strong iron for meters on each side, as had some of the furniture in the house. When Kray nudged at one of them it didn't move- it was fused into the ground. He drew a rope out of his bag and knotted it around the chair legs, testing the knot for strength and then wrapping it around again for safety. He glanced up at the knight, who nodded, and then began to cast his own spell. The amber-yellow glimmer of his gift wasn't as strong as Alanna's violet flare, but the spell was very neat and settled into the weave of the rope like water soaking into cloth. The rope thickened and shifted like a snake, coiling into longer and longer loops on the ground as it grew. Alanna waited for a long time before she nodded that it was long enough to reach the distant ground, prompting a nervous noise from Markus. She responded by rolling her eyes and ignoring him.

"Can you make that into a ladder?" She asked Kray, "No-one will be able to hold onto a rope for that long."

He nodded, concentration written on his face in soft lines. The snake shifted again, spikes growing from it until it looked like an enormous caterpillar. When they were a foot long they split at the ends, twisting around each other until they were fixed. He opened his eyes and grinned at the handiwork, nodding his smug thanks for the grudging appreciation of the other men.

"You weave nearly as well as my missus." One of them finished lightly, ducking away to avoid the swipe Kray took at him.

It took two of them to push the great mass of rope to the edge of the iron floor, and then it had to be fed through the small gap slowly and carefully. They could hear it creak in the depths, the sound echoing and amplified. It finally fell through in a hiss of rushing rope, and suddenly there was only the tether rope, straining gently at the weight of the enormous ladder. Kray tested the weight carefully, and then grinned and disappeared down the hole. Two of the other men followed him in quick succession, and then a third glared at Markus until the pasty soldier climbed down, too. Daine followed him, then Alanna, and finally the remaining soldiers. With ten of them on the ladder it swung alarmingly until they found a rhythm, carefully matching their movements to the person below and above them.

Even if they wanted to look down there was little point- their eyes had hardly adjusted to the light, and the cave was as black as night. They could feel the height in the sway of the rope, and hear it in the gentle shimmer of the water far below them. But their whole world was touch- to reach out, to grasp the next rung in the ladder, and then to reach out again. The ladder was strong but rough; the edges of the rope bristled with scratchy fibres, and soon their hands were tired. And the darkness still pulled at them: they had no way of knowing how close to the bottom they were. The hole in the roof disappeared, but not from distance- the sun had set.

They climbed in silence, completely focused on the rope. The first sound was the intake of breath from the man who'd climbed down last. A second later they all felt it- a tremor which danced down the rope. As one, they looked up. Was the rope fraying?

The ladder shuddered again, and this time they heard it: a single stream of laughter, so light it was almost hidden under the metallic sounds of the cave.

"Go," Alanna whispered, and then repeated more urgently when none of them moved. "Climb, you idiots!"

There was a hiss as they all breathed in the breaths they were holding, and started climbing again. This time they were less cautious- as soon as one foot found a rung the second was reaching for the next, and there were hissed curses as one by one they lost their grip and had to grab for the rope, making it dance even more erratically. There was no way to tell anymore if the movements were from the Johi above them, or their own rush for the ground.

There was a flat noise from below them, and Kray laughed softly in victory as he set foot on solid ground. As the second man rushed to join him, the ladder swung violently sideways, the humans clinging to it like kittens on a windswept branch. As far above them as the Johi were, the laughter was still clear in their ears: now more than one voice, and filled with cruelty.

The second man jumped and rolled, closely followed by the third. Markus gripped the ladder in white knuckles and climbed a further few rungs down, watching the ground rushing beneath the swinging ladder with a sickened expression. The others were only a few rungs above, but couldn't move until the soldier did.

"Go on," Daine whispered, trying not to sound terrified as the ladder jolted and dropped a few inches closer to the ground with a tearing sound. "You're fine. It's easy. Just twenty more steps, and you'll be safe."

The man looked up and swallowed, his eyes involuntarily drawn to the ground as if gravity was sucking at his thoughts as well as his body. Alanna kicked at her rung impatiently, making the ladder shake again, and didn't bother to whisper.

"Move." She put every iota of command she possessed into her voice. "Climb down, or I'll kick you off."

Torn between gentle encouragement and open threats, the soldier forced himself another few steps downwards, his hands dripping with sweat and slipping from the rope. One of the more athletic soldiers climbed down the ladder from above, clinging to the rope at the side and pushing past them. Daine opened her mouth to yell at him when she saw what he was doing: when he reached the bottom of the ladder he held on grimly, using his weight to steady it. The other soldiers on the ground rushed over to help as soon as it was still. For a few heartbeats it was better; Markus climbed down another few rungs, and his crippling shaking eased up slightly. Held like a tightly wound lute string, the next attack on the ladder made it snap violently back and forth. They clung onto it with their elbows locked in the sides- all except Markus, whose slippery hands surrendered the rope. Daine cried out and tried to catch him, but he was hurled away like a doll.

"At least he's down," Alanna said, and apologised when Daine looked appalled. "He'll be fine- Lee there is a healer. Quickly now, move."

Daine nodded and climbed, making short work of the last section of the ladder. When she got to the base she held on with the other men, noticing how one half of the ladder was longer than the other one. They must be fraying through the ladder, magical rope or not.

The last man was barely off the ladder when it shuddered a last time, and then was eerily still. Kray looked up into the darkness and shoved the nearest men roughly away.

"Run!" He shouted, pulling the nearest one with him. They scattered as far as they could on the small island. They could feel the ground shudder when the weight of the enormous ladder thudded into it, lashing like a whip from the speed of its fall. One coil fell into the water, and the huge crash of water soaked them all from head to foot.

Then the ladder was down. It was over. Above them, they could hear the manic shrieks of the Johi as they realised their prey had escaped.

"Oh Mithros, Markus..." one of the men swore from somewhere behind Daine. They emerged from their hiding places, fanning out to search for him, and hoping that vast rope hadn't landed on him. One of the men called out, and they rushed over to see him lying in the mud. One hand was lying under a coil of rope, pushed deep into the oozing muck by the weight of it, but the rest of him was unscathed. A knotted bruise was already forming on his forehead, where he'd hit the ground. Without a word, the man who Alanna had called Lee crouched next to the man and summoned his gift, while the others dragged the coil of sodden, muddy rope away from the man. Wet, it took four of them to even lift it.

One of the other men brought a fragment of rope to Alanna. One edge was clean-cut where he'd sliced it with his knife, the other end was a torn mess. The knight's eyes narrowed as she examined it; it looked like it had been torn at with teeth and claws.

"The magic must have called them to us," She said, dropping the shredded thing. It landed in the mud with a squelch as she looked up at the ceiling. "Well, they can't get here, anyway."

"The Neferii can, though." Daine said uneasily. She didn't know how the creatures would take to so many humans being splashed with their precious water. She didn't particularly want to find out. "We should move. The bandits will be here soon, they'll have heard the rope falling. What will you tell them?"

A few minutes later, Kray answered that problem easily.

"We're from the Swoop cliffs. Smuggling, mostly- had a run of good luck, as you can see." Kray preened as he showed off his good leather armour to the bandit, who barely glanced at it but continued staring at the group. "But then we heard about this Tariro, and what with the Queen's Own moving camp..." he tailed off and scratched his head, smiling with a vague bewilderment. "Say, you're not too friendly, are you?"

The bandit had appeared out of the darkness so quickly that they hadn't even had time to finish healing Markus. He shouldered the staff he was carrying and shifted his gaze from the men to the coils of the rope, and back again. "Mage, are ye?" He growled poking at one of the unnaturally heavy coils. Kray shrugged and smiled in one gesture. His questioner scowled, still not convinced. "How did ye find this place, cliff men?"

"I brought them." Daine stepped through the crowd, cautious despite herself. She didn't recognise this guard, but that didn't mean he wasn't one of Elan's cronies. She didn't spend a smile on him, but nodded a respectful greeting. The man's voice rumbled in his throat before it formed words.

"Oh aye, you're alive then?" He actually waited for her to nod before he carried on, as if she would disagree. "Went lookin' for your man, did ye?"

The girl pretended she didn't hear that. She could almost hear Alanna wondering what he meant. Instead, she squared her shoulders and said, "We have news from the coast, and we're soaked to the skin, and half frozen. Do you want to stand here and gossip until we drop dead from the cold?"

Yes, said the man's eyes, but he only raised an eyebrow and waved them towards the trapdoor. He could tell everyone Elan's wife was back, that was a gift worth keeping. The men were all burly, strong specimens, sure... but then they were cliff folk, used to scouring the beaches and cliffs for wreckage. In the semi-darkness he saw nothing threatening about them, and besides, they were right- it was freezing out here. The last two men half-carried the third, who shivered from his coating in mud and from a half-healed bruise on his head.

Daine pulled the trapdoor open and heard Alanna's hiss of surprise at the ornate corridor at the base of the stairs. Without thinking she automatically led them to the healer's rooms. The door was shut, and after being away for weeks she felt awkward just walking in, so she knocked. The bandit who had waved them in dawdled in the corridor behind her, watching to see if she would do anything worth gossiping about.

The door swung open, and Emma opened it. She gaped at the crowd blocking out the bandit's torchlight, her eyes marking all of them until they settled on Daine. Her mouth fell open.

"Goddess bless it, you came back!" She breathed, smiling. The bandit smirked and slouched away, content with that reaction. Emma realised she was being watched and collected herself, nodding at the others, her eyes questioning.

"Our friend is hurt," Daine said evenly, smiling her own welcome. "May we come in?"

888


	38. Welcome

It was hard to get Emma to stop staring. As soon as she'd found out who the redheaded woman in her healing room was, she could barely concentrate on healing the concussed man they'd brought her. Her eyes kept getting drawn away from her charge until Alanna got impatient and scowled back at her. The healer flushed and looked away, watching the purple knot on Markus' head shrinking back from the butter-yellow light of her gift. By the time his eyes opened, the crowd of men had settled comfortably around the room, chatting as if they were by their own fireplaces, and the awkwardness had faded a little.

Emma was a bandit. Her parents were bandits, and their parents before them. She had been raised to fear people like this- the ones who were so comfortable with their weapons that they could draw them in their sleep. They unnerved her. And purple eyes just seemed plain unnatural to her. Her usual brazen streak failed her, and she decided to ignore them completely and talk to Daine instead.

"I'm glad you're back," she started, "But... it might make things difficult. For Morgan, I mean, not for me."

"He told me to come back," Daine pointed out, picking at the knot which still held the sling to her back. She'd tied it so tightly it refused to let go, and Sa was fussing. Emma rolled her eyes.

"Well, he would, wouldn't he? He doesn't hear the whispers, always down in the crypt. But we do. Tyro hears the men, and I hear the women. You remember that mob?"

Daine nodded. She'd heard about it from Tyro after Numair had brushed the whole thing off as a small annoyance. Emma's mouth twisted wryly and she tried to explain the way the bandits were thinking.

Although they were still split into groups, they all agreed on one thing: there was something suspicious about Elan's disappearance. If it was the spell that had done it, then why hadn't it affected the tall mage who spent all his time there? Many of them doubted that there was anything magical about the disappearance at all, and still hunted the labyrinth of the palace for their old leader's remains. Numair's explanation had convinced many of them, but even they flatly refused to believe that Elan would poison his wife and child. All that explanation did, they whispered to each other, was prove that there was something between the mage and Arra. Several of them demanded that Morgan be locked up, or at least properly questioned as to whether that something was worth killing for. When Arra had disappeared too, these demands quietened. If Elan had been killed for his wife, then she wouldn't have vanished. They stopped looking suspiciously at the mage, noticing his anger after the girl disappeared and nodding knowingly at each other, but looking for another explanation. The one thing they all agreed on was dark and absolute: someone had to pay for this crime.

"Now you're back," Emma finished, "They'll start looking at him again. And bandits ask their questions at knifepoint, Arra."

"I can explain to them," Daine started, and Emma shook her head.

"You're too close to the whole thing. They won't believe you. If you try to defend him it'll just confirm what they already think- and you know that cuckolds pay with their lives in our law. If you stay quiet..." she bit her lip and shrugged, "Well, if it looks like you don't care then they might think that you don't care."

Daine nodded, thinking that over. Emma realised that she needed some time, and decided to introduce herself properly to the strangers by offering them a drink. Soon they were all toasting her kind hospitality, which made her feel much happier, especially when one of them offered to top up the drinks with the mysterious contents of his hip flask. When Emma could meet her strange purple gaze without flinching, Alanna grinned and introduced herself. The room was soon quite noisy and filled with laughter, jokes and the musty smell of wet clothes drying by the fire.

Lost in her thoughts, Daine finally managed to find the end of the knot, and started to tease it through the rest of the threads. When she finally managed to untie the sling, she laid the baby gently on the floor and stretched, feeling her back muscles protest at the sudden lightness. Sarralyn realised she preferred feeling squashed to the sudden cooler air away from her mother, and started whining until she was picked up again.

"Well, you still sound like a piglet to me." Numair laughed at the surprised joy in Daine's eyes, and then held the baby clear when she launched herself at him. He hugged her back with one arm, unable to stop smiling. "Hello sweetling! Did you miss me, then?"

She kissed him in reply, not caring that a chorus of wolf-whistles had started across the room. It was hard to care that people were watching when he held her like that, his arm tightening around her waist and drawing her deliciously close.

"When did you get here?" She asked breathlessly. He nodded at the soldiers, who were welcoming Tyro into their group as if he'd always been there. The bandit received polite applause when he accepted a drink, and then cheers when he produced a hip flask of his own.

"Tyro heard some rumours about some strangers arriving here, and of course he had to make them welcome. Well, it's his job." He grinned at the party that had started and casually sent wards into the corners of the room. Daine rested her head against his shoulder. It was impossible to feel like she shouldn't care when she was this happy. Still, she had to ask.

"What about you, though? Emma said..."

"Yes, I know. She keeps telling me, as well." Numair made a dismissive gesture, his voice flippant, and then smiled reassuringly when he saw the worry in Daine's eyes. "Don't worry. If anyone asks, I came to see the healer and you just happened to be here, ignoring me." He kissed her again, whispering with delicious warmth in his voice, "What a happy coincidence! We'll just have to be more careful we don't get caught, that's all."

"Because you're being so subtle right now..." Tyro drawled from nearby, making them both jump. The bandit choked back a laugh and held out a hand, waiting for Daine to take it before he spoke again. "I just wanted to welcome you back, Arra. That idiot's been at a loose end this past month. And, Morgan, the lady with the delightful death-glare says that this reunion is very touching, but it's been a year since you've seen her, and if you don't at least say hello she'll be very annoyed."

"Alanna never uses the words 'very annoyed'," Numair said with a grin, clearly enough for the knight to overhear. Tyro shook his head.

"Ah, no, but I'm too well-raised to repeat her actual words. My dear mother would weep if she heard me, and return from the black god's realms to wallop me."

Numair laughed and let go of Daine, moving Sarralyn into the crook of his arm before he walked over to Alanna to say hello. Playing along with her mock-fury, the soldiers all greeted the newcomer by complimenting him on his human shield: come on, Lioness, you wouldn't scowl at a man carrying a baby, would you?

Daine hung back, wanting to talk to Tyro while the mage was distracted. Emma's news still bothered her. She started bluntly, "Tyro... would it be better if I left again?"

"Too late for that, lass, they already know you're back." The bandit clapped her on the shoulder and grinned. "Don't worry too much. My folks have a lot more to worry about than that story, and... well, she probably didn't tell you this, but a lot of them are too scared of your friend there to make a move. He knocked out all of Elan's bodyguards in a heartbeat, you know."

"He doesn't like doing things like that," she murmured, watching Alanna hug the man in greeting. They both slapped each others' shoulders as they parted, man to man. Tyro raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

"Well, just don't tell them that and it'll be fine. And don't be kissing him in public, either." He held up his hands protectively when she pulled a face at him, laughed and ducked over to the soldiers.

Without a word, it seemed to be agreed that the night was for relaxing, drinking and feeling the warmth of the fire, and nobody was allowed to talk about anything serious. The soldiers were all used to spending months in the field, and they knew a good camp when they found it. Safe behind the wards, they sang and played cards and teased Emma, Tyro and Numair mercilessly until everyone fell about laughing. Numair spent a good ten minutes scolding Kray for teaching his daughter to gamble, until he found out that she had won. Then he spent the next half hour asking if there was a career in pebbles. Emma, Lee and Alanna spent their time arguing over healing methods, grabbing the unsuspecting Markus and poking him to prove their points when they disagreed. Tyro found out that two of the other men had used their magic to speed the ship along, and started asking about magical sailing techniques.

The night passed. Being underground in the sealed room, they had no concept of time. Daine guessed it was late when Sarralyn started to grizzle, and took her from Numair so she could feed her, change her, and put her to bed in Emma's quieter, darker room. The fire in there had died down, and by the time she'd gradually coaxed it back into life and settled the baby the main room had gotten quieter. When she returned, half of the soldiers were sprawled around the fire, fast asleep. The remaining few were finishing their conversations in whispers, yawning widely at regular intervals while they pulled their bedrolls from their packs. Numair had borrowed a spare blanket from Emma- leaving to go back to his own room at this time of night would raise more comment than staying- and when Daine curled up next to him he wrapped his arms around her in a warm, safe hug.

"We need to talk," Daine whispered, the words slurred in their sleepiness. He kissed her temple.

"Yes, and we will in the morning, I promise. Go to sleep, magelet."

888

The morning dawned with no change in the light, but with a chorus of groans from the men who had shared too much of Tyro's homemade liquor. Emma's brassy voice chided them merrily as she built up the fire, taking their complaints in good spirits and telling them to drink some water. The healer shook the shoulders of everyone who was still asleep, blankets pulled over their ears, and greeted them with a Good morning, sleepyheads!

"Goddess bless us, she's a morning person." Alanna rubbed her birds-nest of tangled hair grouchily, determined to stay under the blanket until the fire was warm enough. Emma grinned at her and tugged the blanket down.

"That's right, sunshine!" She cackled evilly at the deluge of cursing and tripped off to draw some water, obviously having a great time. Alanna glared after her, and then sighed and looked around at her hand-picked troops. They all looked slightly crumpled in the new day- comfortable living had worn them out more than weeks of sleeping in the field. A few bedrolls over, she saw Numair carefully getting up and tucking the blanket back around Daine.

"Didn't Emma wake her up, too?" the knight asked softly. Numair shook his head and combed through his hair with his fingers, making it frizz.

"No, she always lets her sleep. Daine's... well, she's not been well."

Alanna stretched and thought about combing her own hair. The thought didn't make it as far as her hands; she simply shook her head to make the mess lie flat. "She had a baby. That'd wear anyone out." She thought about that and amended the comment so it didn't include herself. "Most people, anyway."

"She was poisoned." Numair said it so flatly, trying to hide a yawn, that Alanna thought she'd heard it wrong. When it had sunk in she glanced at the peacefully sleeping girl again, seeing her weariness through a healer's eyes rather than a warrior's.

"She didn't tell me," the knight whispered, struck. The mage made an empty gesture.

"Keeping secrets is a big part of this island. After a year, I guess that it's second nature." He shrugged in self-mockery. "But that's not the sort of thing you want to talk about before breakfast."

Alanna agreed, but pestered the man with so many questions during breakfast that she had most of the story before it was over. Each of the soldiers ate quietly, chatting to each other about the weird fishy vegetables they were given, and then left in groups of two or three to mingle with the bandits outside. Whatever they were ordered to do on this island, it would definitely be easier if they made a few friends, first. Tyro pointed them in the direction of the main hall but stayed back, knowing that once Daine was awake they were going to start talking seriously, and determined not to be left out of their plans again. He said as much to Emma, who nodded and went to check on Sarralyn.

It was the sudden silence that finally woke Daine up. She rubbed her eyes blearily and stared around the nearly empty room, working out what had happened in a few seconds. She didn't have the heart to ask why they hadn't woken her up; with the warmth of the fire, and knowing that she and Sarralyn were totally safe and protected, she had slept better than she had in months. Seeing that Numair, Daine and Tyro were busy talking, and hearing Emma cooing at the baby in the next room, she sorted through her pack for a change of clothes and a comb and ducked into the next room where she knew Emma kept a jug of water. The healer smiled a greeting but didn't say anything, saving all her words too coo nonsense at the infant who was gradually waking up. By the time Sarralyn was loudly demanding food Daine was clean, neat and properly awake.

Numair came into the room while Daine was nursing the baby, kissed her cheek and sat next to her, waiting for her to speak. Emma excused herself and left while Daine explained what had happened with the monster Johi, and how they had laughed at the baby's screams and not attacked her. Numair reached out a finger and smiled when Sarralyn wrapped her tiny hand around it, listening intently.

"She hasn't changed, has she?" He asked finally, "She doesn't look different, or burst into flames or turn into ice, or you would have said something. It's just the screaming."

She nodded, unable to interpret what he was thinking from the expression in his black eyes. He pulled his hand away so he could tug at his nose, obviously working something out.

"I have a theory," he said eventually. "You're not going to like it, but it's not completely hopeless, either."

"Go on," she prompted, leaning the baby against her shoulder so she could burp her. Sa responded by spitting up onto her clean shirt. Daine sighed and kept patting.

"Well, first of all we should get Alanna to look at her with her gift. She might see another spell if it's lurking in there. I'd do it myself, but I'm scared of hurting her." He waited for Daine to nod an agreement before he kept talking. "The thing about the spell is it's really, really old. I'd say primitive if this society wasn't more advanced than ours a hundred years ago... but the temples, for example, have sacrificial altars in them. You would hope they used animals, but..." he shrugged, remembering the sizes of the altars and the darkness that clung to the air, "...but that's unlikely."

"So it's an old spell," Daine said, lost. "So what?"

"So, Miss Sarrasri, it's safe to assume that they treated their spells the same way they treated their deities. They were happy putting their whole gift into trinkets, so why not a few drops of blood, or the last breath of a condemned man?"

"That's horrible."

"We did it too, hundreds of years ago." He waved a hand vaguely in the air and then took Sarralyn while Daine wiped her shirt down. "The point is, since it's an old spell it can probably only be completed by the same rules. It's like closing a door- you can shut it, but unless you have a key it can't be fixed in place. I very much doubt that our friend Elan would have turned into an immortal if he hadn't killed Keith in the same room. He would have had some effects, sure, but nothing that would stick. So unless Sarralyn here has killed someone while the spell's been in her, we shouldn't be too worried."

"The Johi will be after her, now they know she's the carrier of their half." Daine said pessimistically, straightening her shirt and standing up. She felt much happier, despite her words, and wished the others a good morning when they walked into the next room. Her good humour lasted exactly as long as it took Numair to outline his plan.

"When the statues are found, we need them to be brought here. We need both sets of immortals and both halves of the spell to be here, as near to the crypt as possible, for the spell to be destroyed."

Alanna nodded. "I'm expecting the men to call me soon. They should have the statues in the next few days, or at least a plan. We know where they are, it's just a case of sneaking in and finding a way to carry them. When they call me I'll tell them to bring them here."

"Both halves of the spell?" Tyro asked carefully. Numair nodded, and then looked at Daine. She blinked, and then realised what she was being asked to do. She shook her head violently, feeling sick.

"I don't want to get him back. I'm glad he's gone." She said mulishly, folding her arms. "Why should I be the one to go?"

"You can talk to the Neferii," Numair pointed out reasonably.

"So can you, dearest." The girl shook her head, her voice over-sweet. "And if he tries to kill you then you can set him on fire. I really think you should go. Or just set him on fire from here. Either is good."

"Why would they let me talk to him?" He demanded, annoyed by her deliberate childishness. "I'm just another mortal, prying into their lake. At least you have a link with the man."

"They wouldn't respect that for a second. It's just words." Stung, she looked up at him. "Kyprioth only did it as a joke. He wanted us to fight."

"Gods don't think like that," Alanna said suddenly. The other adults had stayed well clear of the argument, each for their own reasons: the knight didn't know what they were talking about, Emma had gotten used to their bickering over the months, and Tyro was wistfully daydreaming about what he would do if he had the ability to set people on fire.

Alanna carried on, defending the motivations of a trickster god, no less. "If they interfere they generally have a bigger picture in their head, even if we can't see it. Also, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Daine married the man." Numair's voice was flat, filling in the one mystery Alanna hadn't worked out from her constant questions. "Kyprioth told her to."

Alanna rounded on the girl, who in turn was glaring at the lanky mage. "You did what?"

"So that's why you did it!" Tyro slapped his knee with one hand. The others glared at him until his grin faded slightly. "What? I just won a bet. Let me be happy."

"Why would you bet on something like that?" Alanna demanded at the same time that Daine started laughing helplessly.

"Why not?" the girl giggled, "It's not like we ever let you just ask us, is it Tyro? Dear Mithros, but this island is stupid."

"It also had the best odds," The bandit told her confidentially. "'Divine intervention' was ten to one, right above you losing a bet of your own. Actually, the best best odds were fifty to one that you were actually in love, although no-one went for that one ever since Elan yelled at you before we got to the island, and I said..." he stopped talking abruptly when he caught sight of the other's expressions. Thunderclouds looked less threatening. "Err... I said nothing at all. None of my business, really, your personal lives. None at all. I skipped off and picked daisies in a field and sang a merry ditty and... and thought no more about it, honestly."

"Can I have a cut of the winnings?" Daine asked in the frozen silence. Tyro felt like he was lost in the middle of two completely different conversations- this friendly banter seemed the least dangerous of the two, but then he didn't trust the redheaded woman not to murder him if he joined in with it. If looks could actually shoot daggers, he'd already be dead a thousand times over. He rubbed his hair the wrong way and mentally shrugged.

"Er, perhaps?" He said tentatively, not looking at any of the Tortallans. Daine smiled, even knowing he couldn't see it.

"Good," she said, "I'd like to think I actually gained something from doing this. If the blessed things don't kill me, you can pay me when I get back." She stood up and collected her bow, checking the string and the weight with obvious intent as she sat back down by the fire.

"We need him alive," Numair was relieved that she had decided to do it, but wary at the brightness in her voice. "You're not going to shoot him, are you?"

"Only when... er, if he annoys me," she muttered, half to herself. "Do I have to wait until the statues are here?"


	39. Tay Kiri

Guy stubbed his toe and hopped in silent agony, holding back his curses and his breath until the sharp pain faded away. It was impossible to see anything in these tunnels; they twisted and fell so sharply that the light from the entrance was just a distant memory. One good thing about having to be completely silent struck him- none of the other men in the cave would have heard him hurt himself in such a stupid way. He grinned into the darkness and carried on, holding on to the side of the wall with one hand and the rope with the other.

They'd watched the Johi for three days and nights, until they had worked out their pattern. The creatures screamed out of the caves as night fell, and returned at dawn in the same rushing tide. They showed no signs of weariness, but didn't reappear or make another sound until sunset the next night. After the third time they did this, the soldiers decided to make their move. Without the gifted there the monsters were basically blind; when they were spying they had crept close enough to them to smell the strange metallic odour they gave out, without the creatures realising. So, when the monsters streamed back into the cave on the fourth morning, they decided to follow them into the tunnels.

The problem, they soon found out, was light. They were cautious that the Johi would hear the crackle of a torch, and so hadn't taken one with them. After a few hundred steps into the stomach of the mountain they had to turn back. That one mistake had cost them an hour, and the second time they were more prepared. They only risked one torch, and the men held onto a guiding rope behind the leader. Five of them had volunteered, leaving the others at the camp with the instruction that if they weren't back by sunset... oh well, keep trying.

The torch threw off sparks as they turned a corner, stuttering in a draught, and for a second everyone's faces were illuminated. They all looked the same- wary, but determined. They had travelled to this godforsaken rock of an island to fight a monster, and this one had volunteered. As tense as they looked as they turned every corner, their hands hovered over their recorders rather than their swords. Guy smiled again, his sense of humour returning in a rush. When bards sang about this battle, they'd probably change those pipes into pikes. He was wondering how they'd describe this twisting, toe-trashing tunnel when they turned again, and blinked at the sudden light.

The tunnel had opened up into a glade, a world of unearthly beauty embraced in walls of rock. The walls rose up impossibly high, gradually drawing closer together until the sky was just a distant circle of winter light. If the men hadn't already seen the creatures that crawled out of this haunt they would have expected sprites or unicorns to be prancing through the flowers. The air was strangely warm, as if this was a fragment of summer that had hidden away from winter, and many of the trees were in bloom. Petals drifted upwards in the winter wind, pulled out of the narrow chimney of rock that lead to the outside world and freezing in the winter air. The few flakes of snow that flowed back down the chimney melted and fell into the middle of the clearing in a gentle rain. The whole place was lit with a strange, warm light, which painted the apple blossoms blood red.

When their eyes had cleared from the shock of seeing a place like this in the wasteland, the soldiers drew back into their tunnel. None of them spoke a word, but they looked at each other in shared amazement as they studied the place. Todd pointed at the centre of the clearing and raised his eyebrows. A normal cave might have had a lake at its heart; this place had a pool of glowing rocks. It looked like a fire-pit. The warmth that fed the plants and turned the harsh winter into nourishing rain must come from that.

Clustered around the pit, as if they were warming themselves, were the forlorn shapes of huddled children. They clung to each other, hands extended to the blaze in pitiful hope, eyes raised to the sky above them. The water dripped onto their upturned faces, and the soldiers realised that these pathetic shapes were the statues they had been sent to find. But there were so few of them! For all the hundreds of Johi that had screamed from this place, there were only about ten statues. The water dripped from their blank stone eyes like tears, and ran from their fingertips into the fire with a dying hiss. The soldiers walked closer to them, their feet silent on the unearthly grass, and peered at them.

Guy's statue had long plaits which fell almost to her waist. The statue was old, eroded by time, but the detail on those plaits was remarkable. Like a true child, they were messy and stray hairs danced over her face. Beads of water soaked those strands, and he had to resist the urge to brush them away. Monsters were one thing, but these were children. His own daughter had looked exactly like that when she had gotten lost in a hunt. The rain had gotten so heavy that the hunters had headed for cover, knowing their prey was doing the same thing. It was only after the rain lessened that they realised Menda wasn't with them. He swallowed, remembering the hours of terrified searching. He was a good tracker, but the rain had washed away all her tracks, and by the time he'd found her she was shivering with the cold. She had looked up at him just like this, her eyes so full of trust...

He jumped. The statue stared back at him, her eyes focused on his face. How could he think this statue was like Menda? As skilled as the stonemason had been, he must have slipped when he carved that face. The eyes were wide and childlike, and quite possibly the most malevolent thing he'd ever seen. He shivered and stepped back, wondering why he hadn't noticed that before. He looked up at the others, wondering if they'd noticed the same thing.

They all stared at their statues, just as lost in their thoughts as he had been. They all see their children, he realised with a cold chill. As he watched, one of the younger men reached out to touch the cheek of the tiny boy he was standing beside. His mouth moved as he reached out, and Guy read the name of the man's brother on his lips.

He ran forward on light feet and grabbed the man's arm before he could touch the statue. Walker struggled for a second, and then blinked as he saw the same malevolence in his statue as Guy had seen in his. He flushed at the nearness of his mistake, and nodded when Guy signalled to the other men. As rapidly as they dared in this silent world, they shook their comrades out of their reveries and then retreated back to the tunnel. If anything, they all felt ashamed for falling for such a simple trick. When they looked back at the clearing, they all blanched- the statues were all staring at them, still completely frozen, but with their childish faces twisted beyond recognition. As keenly as they hated these intruders, they could only show it through their enraged eyes. They were trapped in the stone. But while they were encased in rock, they could obviously see the humans perfectly.

"What do we do?" Walker croaked, his voice rough from a tickling throat he hadn't dared to cough away. The other men looked at each other. This seemed too magical for them- they were soldiers, and not expected to deal with things like this. Another of the men seemed to make a quick decision. Hefting an impressive looking mace in one ham-thick fist, he approached the nearest statue and brought the weapon crashing down against the child's skull. A small fracture appeared, and he grinned, raising the mace for another blow.

The statue shuddered, and for a split second the ghost of an arm flickered out from it, leaving its stone shell behind. The claws caught the man's side cruelly, tearing a long strip from his leather armour, and then retreated as rapidly as they'd appeared. The statue's livid eyes glazed slightly, as if it was tired, but the soldier had already backed away warily.

"If we smash 'em," he said slowly, "What's to say they'll not just flit out of them?"

"I don't know if they have much choice," Guy replied, thinking rapidly. "If they could control it, they'd have attacked as soon as they saw us, right? That one was defending itself. They must have a few hours, at least, where they have to be statues."

"How long would you say that is?" One man asked carefully, not looking the other soldiers in the eye. Being afraid of an insane immortal fireball with claws was nothing to be ashamed of, but the first one to admit it would be mocked mercilessly. The other men coughed and shuffled their feet in the dirt, not wanting to make the first suggestion. Guy looked annoyed.

"I'm not some spark-spouting mage, Kay. How would I know?"

"Only," Kay said nervously, "The sun's going to set soon, and Alanna will probably want to hear about this..."

As one the soldiers breathed out, nodding knowingly at each other. Yes, Alanna will want to know. First duty of a soldier, that: reporting back to the commanders. It's not a retreat, it's a tactical withdrawal. Feeling slightly more heroic, they turned around and headed back through the tunnel. They walked much faster than they had towards the cave, racing the sun.

888

"Er... erm, oh blast it, you!"

Tyro glanced up at the red-headed whirlwind who had just emerged from the other room, and was desperately trying to remember his name. "My name is Ty-ro." He said deliberately, not asking what she wanted. She nodded something halfway between an apology and a shrug and crouched down next to him.

"Tyro," she said with dangerous patience, and then let her own words wash out in a flood, "Have you seen Daine? I need to speak to her. My men found the statues. We're going to move them here tomorrow, and..."

"If it's tomorrow that you're needing her for, you can wait for a few hours. I'm sure she'll come back." Tyro said placidly, tying off a knot in the bag he was repairing. Now the bandits were preparing to move away again, they'd suddenly realised how terribly worn their belongings had gotten while they were running away from the Johi. The palace hummed with quiet industry as everyone who could hold a needle got sewing. The whole atmosphere was wasted on Alanna, who couldn't leave the healer's rooms for fear of being recognised, and who had spent the last four days in a whir of increasingly grouchy energy. Tyro sympathised, but wondered how the woman had managed a month on a ship. All sailors learned to do small things to amuse themselves; Alanna would surely go mad. She jumped at this small mystery like a parched man finding a puddle of water.

"Where is she? I know you know." She added, glancing at a bundle by the fire. "She left Sa with you."

"Clever," Tyro bit off the end of the thread and started another seam. The bag had a series of gashes along one side. The wearer was lucky they'd been wearing it; these slashes would have maimed an undefended back. He sewed a few dozen stitches in the growing heat of Alanna's glare, and then gave in. "She's with Morgan."

The knight blinked, wondering if they'd gone to the crypt. It seemed unlikely; the man had the spell figured out, and Daine hated the place. Still, it was the only place they could be seen together without the bandits whispering. She gave up and asked the annoying bandit for the answer, "Why?"

Tyro's thread tangled around a stray and snapped. He sighed and re-knotted the end, wondering how anyone could miss such an obvious hint. In the end he settled for the subtle approach. "Well, like I said, I'd give them a few hours."

"Oh." Alanna sat back and scratched her head absently, her expression a strange mixture of amusement and impatience. "Where are they?"

Tyro shook his head, feeling laughter rising irresistibly from the bottom of his stomach. "I'm not going to tell you. Explaining to my people why a woman with purple eyes is storming into a deserted part of the palace will take up a lot of time, and I have important sewing to do." He looked up, his voice more serious, "Not to mention the fact that it would undermine all the planning, sneaking and outright danger they're forced to go through just to get a few measly minutes together." He cast off the last knot and shook out the bag, checking how tight the stitches were before biting through the thread.

"I'm so angry at Jon, you have no idea," Alanna said, so quietly that Tyro had to look up to see if she'd really spoken. The woman's face was set, her eyes narrowed. "I was angry enough when I found out he'd sent them away, but I thought... I thought that they were the same as they used to be. But this?" She looked at Sarralyn and her face twisted. She'd looked into the baby's gift as she'd been asked to, but couldn't find the courage to describe the twisted mess she'd found there. She ended up saying something that vaguely agreed with what they'd guessed, and praying to the goddess that they could end this island's curse as soon as possible.

When she looked back at Tyro he was sewing again, but listening attentively. She carried on, "If they were back home they'd be a proper family. They'd probably have gotten married by now, and have a home to live in. Instead they have to sneak around like thieves, hiding from criminals, in a frozen tomb under a haunted island." She shook her head. "It's not right."

Tyro ignored the comment about criminals, knowing that she was married to one and just using words out of her anger. It seemed odd to him to think of anyone on this island having a past. Even his own past seemed like a distant fantasy of rolling waves and singing sirens. He knew, of course, that Morgan really had another name, and another life he could go back to, but here it was simpler just to know him as Morgan. Thinking about another life just made this one seem more decayed. But it must be strange for Alanna, seeing her friends so changed and thinking that they could just go home. He tried to explain that this was their life now, but he couldn't think of a way to say that.

"It's what they have," he said eventually, "and, as little as it is, it makes them happy to be with each other. Now," he said brightly, changing the subject before it made him morose, "What did you want to talk to Daine about? I'm sure I can help, I've been on the island longer than she has."

"A map," Alanna answered, surprised at his sudden mood swing, "A map from here to... er, it's a mountain with a stone like a hunched over bird on the top."

"A bird? Really?" Tyro thought for a moment, and then laughed. "Ah, I know the one you mean. I always thought it looked more like a scheming old man. Well, that's easy enough. Do you have any paper?"

888

Completely unaware that anyone would even think to feel sorry for them, several staircases deeper in the palace, Daine and Numair were thoroughly happy to be with each other. Even this far away from the rest of the bandits they'd carefully locked and warded the room before they even touched each other, but that embrace had quickly led to better things.

Daine shivered, hardly knowing if it was from the cold in the room or the butterfly-light kisses that Numair was showering on her face. He smiled ruefully when she broke away to build up the fire in the hearth. It had sunk into embers unnoticed until it spat lazy sparks across the ancient, age-eaten carpet they were lying on. She smiled as she built up a stack of plant-fuel and tried to find a flint. They never noticed the fires burning down, or the candles flickering out, even though when they were together every other sense seemed heightened and the world became so vibrant. The lightest touch would burn like coursing fire, the softest murmur would make her shiver, but she never noticed the candles going out.

"I can do that," Numair said, pulling her hands gently away from the fuel and concentrating until it burst into flames. The sudden warmth made them both flinch away and then laugh. He tenderly brushed the traces of ancient soot from Daine's hands, turning them over so he could kiss each palm in turn. "I once heard a story where a man, in typical poetic tones, of course, told his lover he would cover her in a thousand kisses," he said, looking up from her hands with dark, impish eyes. "I always thought that sounded like fun."

"I think I'd lose count," Daine smiled, "Even after one, my head starts swimming." She pulled him closer by their linked hands and kissed him chastely on each cheek before meeting his lips. He let go of her hands so he could hold her more closely, something she was glad of. Kissing him always made her tremble. When she pulled away it was to kiss the end of his nose, her own eyes just as mischievous as his. "There, mister poet, how many was that?"

"I lost count," he said tragically, "We'll have to start again."

"Four, you idiot." The stranger's voice sounded bored. They both jumped and looked around. Kyprioth was lounging casually in a corner that had definitely been empty a few minutes ago. As bored as the god's voice had sounded, he looked back at them with a bright curiosity, wondering what they would do. Flushed with embarrassment, they glanced at each other and then bowed to the deity, hands still intertwined. He nodded, accepting the obeisance, and then his face broke into a grin.

"If I'd known all I had to do to get some respect around here was raise you from the dead, I'd have killed you sooner." He said serenely to Daine, who blinked and automatically tried to straighten her crumpled shift. The god looked at her levelly, smirking at her blushing, and said in an insincere voice, "I am sorry for interrupting your maths lesson, but it's become quite tricky to find a time when you're alone, you know."

"What do you want?" Daine raised her head, chin set stubbornly as she stared back. Kyprioth sighed melodramatically at the lost, fleeting humility.

"First of all," he said with wounded dignity, "You owe me some gratitude. I haven't heard a single thank you prayer from either of you." He hooked one ankle over the other, sniffling pathetically. "It hurts my feelings."

"Thank..." Numair started, and then stopped when Daine squeezed his hand suddenly. He looked at her questioningly, but she was staring at the god.

"You didn't do anything that wouldn't help yourself a thousand times over," She told him. "If I died, Sarralyn wouldn't have survived either, and you need her, don't you?"

He smiled slowly, tapping one fingernail against his cheek. "Figured it out, did you?" He laughed abruptly and flung his hands out in a flamboyant gesture. Both of the mortals covered their ears at the unearthly sound his many gold bangles made as they chimed together, making him laugh harder. "Oh, child, you do amuse me. It's sweet that you think Gods go around granting wishes, like some Bazhir djinn. Who do you think told Ghada to trap you in that tomb in the first place?" He blinked and looked down, slightly quieter when he spoke again, "You really messed with her head, you know."

"I know," Daine's voice was sad, but her eyes were still wary. This time, when she spoke, she forced her voice to sound casual. "What do you want, Kyprioth?"

"Well..." he drawled, "Aside from the times when I was forced to avert my innocent eyes, I've been watching you two. I find it interesting, you see... especially when you talk about me! I'm flattered that you think my tricks are all about breaking up your personal life. What's next: buckets of water over doorways?"

Daine took a deep breath, wondering if she was being goaded or if he was actually trying to give her a clue. She opted for a little of both, and her answer was openly cynical.

"So... you're saying that Alanna was right, and that you made my life a nightmare for some deeper meaning."

"Ah, and you say it with such sincerity!" He kicked his foot back against the wall, dislodging some of the gilded plaster with vicious speed. "I don't expect you to like me for it, but you have to admit the fact that you're tied to both halves of the spell is very convenient for you, don't you?"

"Sa isn't..." Daine started, and then stopped when the god held up a hand. As casual as their conversation was, he still managed to emit a huge amount of power, as if he wanted everyone who saw him to fall to their knees. When he wanted her to stop talking she couldn't force her mouth to make a sound, whether or not her stubborn mind agreed with the decision. She wondered if Numair wasn't speaking much for the same reason- the god obviously didn't like him, probably because of his curt words the last time they met. Kyprioth lowered his hand slowly, and she felt the pressure ease up a little.

"The real reason I've been watching you," he continued as if nothing had happened, "Is because of her. She... what did you say her name was? Sa?" He wrinkled his nose in wry distaste, distracted. "That sounds like the noise a cat makes when it sneezes, don't you think?" He blinked at their complete lack of reaction and then remembered what he'd been talking about. "Ah yes, so your Sa... well, the only way you can get the spell out of her is if someone else takes it. Oh, for pity's sake... You didn't even have to barter for that information, so don't look so angry."

"I'm not angry," Daine folded her arms and suddenly wished she was wearing more clothes. It was hard to look obstinate when she was only wearing a shift. Oh well... "I'm waiting for the catch. There has to be one. Otherwise one of us would just go and take the spell from Sarralyn, right now, and you'd lose your bet."

"Well, apart from the fact that it would kill you," he retorted, looking slightly nonplussed by her quick thinking, "Taking it would set off the spell, straight away."

"Not without the other half," Numair said quietly. Kyprioth's head snapped around, as if he'd forgotten the man was in the room, and then he sneered quietly.

"You've figured out the spell too, have you? Well, I must say I'm impressed. When are you going to use it? I'll make a note of it." He snapped his fingers, summoning a piece of paper and a stick of graphite, and looked up expectantly. Numair's eyes widened at the god's sarcastic words.

"You're planning to use the spell? Er, Lord Trickster?" He added when Kyprioth glared at him. He realised Daine looked annoyed, too, and shrugged. "Sorry Daine, those of us who aren't related to gods have to be more polite."

The god blinked once, the first natural gesture he'd made, and started laughing again. "What are you going to do, mage? Destroy it?" His laughter got louder until he was wiping away tears of mirth. There was something unsettling in that laugh, a dark undertone which clashed with the normally cheerful sound until it sounded mocking and cruel. The shadows from the room seemed to grow darker, and dripped towards him as if they were bleeding from the light.

"Oh, stop it." Daine said, exasperated. "Are you trying to scare us? That's the magical equivalent of your buckets over the door. Has that ever worked on anyone?"

Kyprioth laughed harder, this time sounding more normal, and the shadows snapped back into place. "You'd be surprised," he started, and then darted forwards so rapidly he seemed to blur into the air. Before Daine could even blink he'd grabbed her shoulders in clawed hands, and his face was elongated into the Neferii skull, barely an inch away from hers. All the joviality disappeared from his voice in an instant, and left a simple, cold threat. His breath hissed between his elongated silver teeth, laced with the unmistakable stench of fresh blood, and his eyes glowed with images of the deaths of thousands. Daine suddenly realised why the Neferii obeyed their Tay Kiri so completely- this creature was terrifying, a living avatar of violent death and ravaged flesh, so dangerous that even the fire seemed to cower away. She couldn't move- even if those razor claws hadn't been cutting into her shoulders, the paralytic force of fear that he produced had frozen her muscles. The hissing growl of his voice was so unlike the charismatic sardonicisms that he used at as human that she could almost think he'd been replaced by some demon.

"I can see your heart, mortal. I can tell you how many seconds you have left to live, and how many breaths you have left to breathe. I can cut off your life like a piece of thread and cast it into chaos. If I wanted to scare you, I would. And I swear that by the time you leave this island, I will."

She swallowed, and all she could think of was the same question she had asked twice before. And this time, she really wanted to know the answer. He was playing- this whole conversation was a game to him, but this violent anger was serious and dangerous. If she wanted to stay alive, she guessed, she'd better humour him. Her voice seemed to be coming from her feet when she finally managed to whisper, "What do you want?"

Under the opaque, deadly eyes the blade-like mouth split into a slow smile.

"Sarralyn."


	40. Ownership

You will regret this. All of your days, you will regret it. The words rang in her mind, so poisonous that she could hardly tell if she was remembering them or actually hearing Kyprioth's enraged hiss again. She had refused to agree, refused to let him take her daughter, refused even to bow her head in fear of his increasing rage. And then, worse than the anger, he had tried to be pleasant. He coaxed and wheedled and smiled through human lips which twitched with rage, betraying silver fangs underneath until he was shouting again. Numair took her hand and held it tightly, neither of them daring to say a word, simply waiting on folded knees for the enraged deity to finish ranting.

A single nod, a single word, and Kyprioth could have taken Sa with a snap of his fingers. But all children are taught that the immortals cannot take you without consent. That would destroy the paths the greater gods had already chosen, the paths mortals can only walk willingly. Without their consent, Kyprioth could no more steal the baby away than he could change their will. Eventually, realising through his black temper that these mortals were as obstinate as stone, Kyprioth had vanished in a deafening clap of sound, so loud that they could hear nothing for minutes afterwards. But in her mind, where the animals spoke, Daine could hear his last bitter words. They haunted her as she walked to the lake.

The water boiled as she neared it. She stared at it dully, realising that the lake was completely thawed once again. The Neferii hadn't been screaming at the Johi anymore, but the lake still frothed as if they were fighting under the surface. She wondered how Elan was doing it. A memory of fighting the Johi, perhaps, and suddenly the Neferii would turn on one another in blind rage. She had seen the evidence several random bursts of his power in the few days that she had been back. The bats had whispered to her of invisible owls scraping their claws across their minds, and trembled as she tried to soothe them. Daine had wondered why he was reading the minds of bats, and not humans, when she realised that he was doing both.

She had been speaking to one of the bandit women who had been preparing to leave with the others that morning, and suddenly the woman's eyes had glazed and she started speaking to someone who wasn't there- a child. Daine watched her, wondering if she should try to break her out of it, when the woman blinked and gripped at her head. Daine asked her who the child was, and she looked askance at her as she said her son had died in the first Johi attack, and she would thank the little whore not to remind her.

That was another problem. As oblivious as they both pretended to be, it was clear to both Daine and Numair that the gossip had started again. The bandits might be leaving, and have worries of their own- but the gossip stayed as strong as ever. Today it was whispering and odd looks from strangers, but Daine could remember enough from her time in Galla to know that soon it would be more serious. Frightened people often turn on the outsiders, and they still had to find a way to get home. It didn't look like Kyprioth was going to help, after last night.

Alanna had left that morning, following Tyro's map so that she would get to the cave about the same time that the Johi were bound to their statues. The men she'd left couldn't carry great lumps of stone on their own, so it was agreed that they would bind the statues with rope and lash them to sleds which they had made from long branches. Alanna would spell the sleds to make them feather-light, and then they could bring the statues back to the cave before they could get free. Hopefully the Johi would not be able to reach outside of the huge sleds to slash at their captors. They would be back by the middle of the afternoon, by which time the bandits should have left the cave. Before she left, Alanna had rigged a few massive ropes to various holes in the roof, so that they could swing across the water.

It was possibly the most undignified escape route ever made, but the bandits were already starting to swing across it. Daine could hear them on the other side of the tiny island, creeping out of the trapdoor and swinging across with fear or glee at the huge arc the rope travelled. Tyro was herding them across, one by one, to be met by a guide on the other side who would take them to one of the safer caves for the night. It would take all day for the hundreds of people to cross the lake, and in the morning they would travel as quickly as possible out of the Johi hunting grounds.

The bandits didn't know why they were leaving. Tyro hadn't told anyone anything specific, but had whispered a few words into a few listening ears. What do you think of the strange way those fish things are acting, and Elan's disappearance? Do you think they're going to attack us? The newcomers said the Children have a demon at their side. What if they brought it here? We'd have nowhere to run to! I've heard they have boundaries. They didn't attack us at the beaches. They didn't attack us when we were on our boats. Do you really want to rot here? It's spring, don't you miss the sun?

And so, with each person believing what they wanted to believe, they all grudgingly decided to leave the palace. The ones who argued were hushed by their friends, or soon came face to face with the newcomers that had arrived the day before. They told horror stories so bleak that the blood rushed from the bandits faces. Monsters were heading for the island. Run! The ones who decided to leave that way tried to push their way to the front of the line, desperate to escape.

And so, little by little, the island became an empty shell. When there were only a few groups left to cross, Daine had slipped away from the crowd and walked to the other side of the island. She waited patiently for the bandits to leave, listening to the god's voice echoing in her head with the unusual silence, and skimming rocks across the mud. At least if he attacks me, she thought dourly, I'll have a target to throw these at.

The water still boiled, and Daine wondered if touching the surface would bring the Neferii to her. She doubted it, somehow; they seemed quite busy keeping Elan under control. Still, she had to get their attention. She called to them as strongly as she dared, keeping far enough from the water that she would have time to react if they burst out on the banks. Then, she waited.

The water was still for a brief second, and then erupted in a violent crash of spray. She flinched and scrambled to her feet, instinctively reaching for her knife.

She expected one or two to surface. The sheer number of creatures that appeared shocked her. She hadn't expected there to be so many. They danced and swam in the water, moving so she couldn't count them. The last time she had been this close to the creatures they'd been clawing at her, furious at her for holding them and saving the mortal who touched the water. Their wild-voices were nothing, just the gentle sing-song of all voices, compared to the looming threat of their huge physical forms. They loomed, too close to the shore, too many teeth, too many claws, and so much anger. If there had been five or ten, she might have been able to hold them with her gift, but this many...?

Choose your words carefully, Daine. She told herself, Or they'll be the last ones you say.

"Hello," the wildmage said lightly to the immortals, "how are you today?"

Most of them blinked. A screech rang from the back of the crowd as one of them recognised the voice and leapt forward, surging through the crowd so quickly that the spray she was throwing up barely touched her. Daine didn't move as Ghada reached out, claws outstretched, waiting until the last possible moment before she threw up a block. The barrier had stopped the creatures before like a wall of glass, but Ghada moved through it like it was treacle before she came to a stop, fighting to break through.

Daine could feel the creature's pain through the shield. It was like burning ice sliding slowly down her spine, wordless and betrayed and utterly irreconcilable. She looked up at the immortal, barely aware that the others were watching tensely. What did I do? She thought frantically, unable to imagine what would cause such pain. Whatever it was, Ghada loathed her for it. This was much worse than simply running away from the crypt.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." She said, meaning it earnestly. Ghada scowled and hissed at the words, hardly in her right mind. Daine mentally shrugged and held the creature still, trying not to let too much of Ghada's pain seep through their link.

The display had made the others quieter. Now they hissed less, and their meandering paths through the water had stopped so they could watch with wary eyes. State your purpose, the eyes said, and this had better be good.

Daine took a deep breath. "I'm here to reclaim the human that you took from the palace."

"He is ours!" The creatures hissed as one, immediately defensive. "We claimed him. We own him."

"No," she said simply, "He's my husband. I swore to the goddess that I would belong to him, and he swore the same to me. He was never yours to take."

They stared at her, baleful glowing eyes hovering in the depths. For a split second those lights flickered as they glanced at one another, and then one of them swam forward slightly. Unlike Ghada, this one was older, with delicate lines tracing the lines of his face and ragged scars flowing down his fins, and he was enormous. He smiled. The expression would have been reassuring on a human, but on his skeletal face it simply made his teeth more prominent. The smile did not reach his eyes, and behind their glowing fury was a trace of guile.

"You live here with him." He said evenly, still smiling. "We will let you. A gift. You can belong together in the mother water. You can belong together forever." As if to reinforce his words, one of the other creatures swam up to Ghada and took her arm, waiting with the same eerie smile for Daine to release her before dragging the furious immortal back into the depths of the lake.

Daine shivered, wrapping her arms around herself tightly and telling herself it was just the cold. "No," she told him, watching the fury burn in that gimlet gaze. "I belong in the woods and the fields and the sunlight, not in this place and definitely not in the water. And so does Elan, even though you've changed him."

"He changed himself. He stole it." The creature swam even closer, towering over the girl even though only his shoulders were out of the water. The smile hadn't faded, but the strain of it ticked in one cheek. She forced herself to smile back, as brightly as she could manage, trying not to shake too obviously as the Neferii leaned towards her. This close, she could smell the strange metallic fishiness of the thing.

"He's paid for that crime!" She made her voice clear enough for the others to hear. "He's been imprisoned, and tortured, and...and frozen... all by your hands. And he wasn't yours to punish! You can take back the spell if you want, but his life belongs to me. Tay-Kiri made me swear it, and I made a vow to the Mother Goddess. Do you think the gods smile on the ones who break their oaths?" She stumbled slightly over the strange name they knew Kyprioth by, but it was enough. As stubborn as the older creatures were being, many of the others started whispering to each other frantically. Daine hoped they wouldn't call her bluff: she knew that they couldn't take the spell away from him, or they would have already done so to cast it. The leader stood his ground, his gaze obstinate. Daine spoke to him alone, her voice quiet.

"I swear he will stay on the island. If you don't give him to me, he'll escape anyway. He's more powerful than you are. At least this way you have a choice."

The creature blinked, silken lids sliding over liquid orbs. The action was small, but it was enough. Without another word he turned and dived into the water. Just like Ghada did when she was annoyed, he made sure to splash as much of the icy water as possible on the annoying human. Daine shouted a curse at his retreating shadow, her words drowned out by the splashes as the other Neferii followed suit. For a few moments, the surface of the water was completely still.

Even the shadows of the swimming forms vanished. They must have hidden their prize so deeply in the lake that not even the light could reach him. The thought made the girl feel ill; as much as she hated him, no-one deserved that fate. She stood as still as the water, waiting, hoping that they had agreed.

The water crashed next to her. Daine spun around, ready to defend herself, but the creature that had emerged barely had the strength to claw its way onto land. The rough friction of the rocks tugged at its broken skin, the flesh pale and bloated like a drowned animal. It stopped dragging its way up the shore and lay still, barely breathing, feet still dragging in the soft currents of the lake. Daine knelt next to it gingerly, wondering if they'd just released the disgusting thing to die out here.

"Hello, Elan." She said. The creature took in a great gulp of air, half in shock, half for the pleasure of it, and its head moved around as quickly as its exposed tendons would allow. For all of his decayed appearance, Elan's smile was just as self-assured as it had always been.

"You... rescued me? You?" He started laughing weakly, the air hissing between his teeth. "It's a good thing I didn't manage to kill you, isn't it?"

"Actually, you did." Daine's voice was completely expressionless as she looked around for a way to drag this mess away from the water. "And I haven't rescued you, either. I hate you."

"Nice to know your feelings for me haven't changed." Elan said flippantly, waving an idle hand. The claws on it were broken and chipped from where he'd clawed at his captors, and shone an odd colour between silver and pink. "For a moment there I was almost worried."

She ignored him, brushing water from her knees as she stood up. There seemed to be no real way to move him- nothing she could use as a sled or a rope. For some reason the idea of dragging him face-first back through the palace was quite appealing. She sighed and glanced at him.

"I don't suppose you can walk?" She asked flatly. He grinned and shook his head- left, right, and back to the middle. It obviously cost him a lot of effort, but he seemed to be enjoying his unhelpfulness. The girl threw up her hands and turned away, heading back to the trapdoor without another word.

"Hey... hey!" The words were involuntary in their sudden terror. "Where are you going? What if those things come back?"

"They won't." She stopped and told him, matter-of-fact. "They keep their word. They don't know how to lie."

He smiled slowly, relaxing back until he was lying in the mud, staring at the ceiling with that strange grin on his face. "Was that a gibe, Arra dear? I don't suppose you would let me make the same comment about you, would you?" He craned his neck to look around, thick greenish mud coating one scarred side of his face. Then, suddenly, the smile and the mockery faded, and he looked childishly bewildered. "Why did you rescue me, Arra? Are you going to kill me? I couldn't fight back now. I can't..."

"Stop," she whispered, feeling ill at the pathetic creature. "Please stop it. You did this to yourself. Don't try to... to make me pity you." She shook her head abruptly, curls flying, and turned back to the trapdoor just as he murmured three final words. They made her stop again, this time in horror, and demand that he repeat them. He smiled again, his eyes flickering shut as if even speaking was draining his energy, and amended them into something his wife would rather accept.

"I didn't mean that. I hated you. But I loved... I loved playing the game,"

Daine stared at the creature, wishing that she couldn't pity it. She wanted to hate it. This was Elan... who had poisoned her, and Sarralyn, and nearly killed Numair. But this creature wasn't Elan. It was a mess of skin and bone and unearthly magic which was eating it alive. It had spent months alone, in the dark, screaming in agony while hundreds of uncaring green eyes had watched it squirm. As a mortal, she hated it... but as this disgusting mass of rotten flesh, it could only be pitied.

She gulped and turned on her heel to fetch the soldiers to carry him inside. Let the others deal with it.

Elan watched her go, a sly smile barely hidden under the mud.

888


	41. Spider

There was a spider on the rope.

Tyro stared at it, a tic dancing in his cheek. It was a great fat spider, large enough that even in the late afternoon light he could see its beady eyes. The course hair that covered its body looked more like tiny spikes, so long that it was hard to tell where its legs broke free from its abdomen. But once they were clear, they were just as vile as the body- long, spindly legs, broken by knees that were covered in more of that spiky fur. He could see the thing's mouth moving slowly, fluidly, as if it was still chewing its last victim. This, he decided, was no ordinary spider. This cave was full of secrets and immortals; it stood to reason that, somehow, the creepiest spider in the world would also live here.

This presented a problem. He couldn't swing across the rope with the spider on it. If... when, he amended, when it scurried over his fingers, he'd let go and fall into the lake. He thought about brushing it off, but then it might fall on him or- worse- run up his leg and hide inside his boot. Tyro thought wistfully about the Spidren that had appeared during the war. After spending a childhood in crippling fear of spiders, it was wonderful to find one that he could actually stick a blade into. He reached out to flick the thing away and stopped, cringing, his hand barely an inch away from the creature. It was lucky, he thought, that all the others had already left the island. If they saw him like this, he'd never live it down.

He looked at the spider. The spider looked back, twitching smugly.

There was nothing for it, decided the man. He'd have to get a cup and scoop the spider into it, and then get it as far away as possible. He checked his bag for a cup and realised that he hadn't got one. Sighing, he headed back for the trapdoor. They'd left a lot of things behind, and there would surely be a cup.

Without the hundreds of bandits in it, the palace seemed colder and more forbidding. It smelled of smoke; one by one, the fires that had been burning all winter were smouldering into ashes. As bandits, they had never been noisy even in this safe place, but without their warm bodies in the gilded rooms the corridors were full of strange echoes. Every footstep echoed and sang against the watery walls until it sounded utterly unlike itself, a shadow of a sound. Tyro shivered and instinctively wrapped his arms around himself, telling himself it was because of the cold. There was something else here: something that wasn't silent or a simple chill in the air. If he had to describe it, he'd say that the palace was holding its breath. Something was going to happen here, something that the whole island was watching for with sharp, narrowed eyes. He was suddenly glad that his people had left it. Even though he had agreed with Morgan's idea, he'd had his own misgivings about making them abandon the palace. It was warm, and safe, and they'd all become soft there. But now that the life had fled across the lake, he could feel the thick darkness in the air.

He scowled and headed for the dining hall, telling himself that he was being fanciful and ridiculous. So what if he was walking silently? He was a bandit, and it was natural. So what if even his thoughts were in whispers? He just didn't want the spider to hear him. He crept into the dining hall like a guilty thief. There was always a larger fire in this room, settled in the huge sculpted fireplace, and it still hadn't gone out, although it was flickering through its last dance of life. The fireplace was bordered by two oversized statues of buxom women, and their shadows waltzed across the room, destroyed by every blaze of nervous flame and then returning when the light fled. He squinted, trying to see if the debris on the floor included a cup, when he heard voices. He froze. He knew exactly who was still supposed to be on the island, and those voices didn't belong to any of them. The husky, rough tones might have belonged to one of the soldiers Alanna had brought with her, but the accent was too brazen and the words were too crude. Realising they were heading for the dining room, Tyro ducked behind one of the statues and waited, watching the doorway through the crook of the woman's elbow.

"Do they know we're here?" one of them asked, none too quietly. The others- it sounded like nine or ten men- made a series of hushing sounds, and the first speaker was shoved through the doorway ahead of the others as someone had cuffed him around the shoulders.

"They might, if you don't hush up." The second growled. "This's serious business, don't be playing."

"Etta told the sea-dog that we went over with their lot." A third man piped up, sounding as bored as if he'd repeated this a few times. The first man smiled slowly and nodded.

"That'd do it. Altogether too close to 'em, is that'n. Whether he's been witched him or not, they'll've held him to account for it by the time we get back." His smile turned into a leer. "After we've finished holding them to account, here, we'll know what truly happened. Time for our answers, lads!"

"They won't talk, I bet you." The second man offered. The first man rolled his eyes and drew his dagger, looking down the blade speculatively.

"I don't want my answers in words. Blood answers just as well. I've wanted that smug mage's answer these past months, and by the Hag today I'll have it."

He moved slightly closer to the fire, and suddenly Tyro could see his face. It was one of Elan's bodyguards- one of the ones Morgan had knocked out when Arra was poisoned. Tyro guessed he shouldn't be surprised; they had always been the ones making the most trouble, stirring up rumours and fighting his leadership at every turn. He also had no doubt that the sea-dog they were talking about was him. The thought made him cold- by the sound of it, Etta and the rest of Elan's mob were planning to jump him as soon as he crossed the lake, and hold him responsible for Elan's disappearance.

He held his breath, not daring to make a sound until the guard had moved away again. They had little more to discuss; they were simply biding their time until they thought the people in the crypt would have their guard down. Then they would strike. They didn't even go for the subtlety of a plan, they simply wanted to charge in and attack.

The horrible thing was that it would probably work. With all the magical danger around, even the mages who'd arrived with Alanna would be fully occupied dealing with that. Tyro bit his lip, wondering what to do.

And then, suddenly, he couldn't think at all.

With a roar of stone and an ungodly scream, the ceiling caved in.

The statue in front of him shuddered as its arm was ripped from its torso, dust and gilt leaf drifting around its serene face like snow. The walls groaned where they met the roof, where the ornate skirting boards were sagging with nothing to support them. The fire choked and died in the swirling debris. Tyro ducked down behind the stone woman and covered his head with his hands, praying to whatever gods were listening that he would live through this. The crashing sounds seemed to last for long, hollow years, but they stopped just as suddenly as they had started. Barely remembering that he had been hiding, Tyro stood up and stared around him with numb incomprehension.

The hall had been near the surface, which was why, when the statue had fallen from the cave roof, it had carved its way straight through the solid ground above it. Now it stood in the middle of what remained of the floor, its childish face set in a spasm of pure terror, completely unharmed among the rubble of the other statues. It seemed to breathe out the same time that Tyro did, a great sigh of relief, and then its face took on a cunning look as it realised where it was.

There was no sign of the other bandits. Tyro guessed that they'd run for the door as soon as the ceiling started crumbling. He wondered if he would run into them in the corridor, and what they would do if they saw him. Then the Johi turned its stone face slowly towards him, graceful features set with sly, wicked delight, and he realised he didn't care. He ran for the crypt.

888

"Good gods, it went through!" Alanna hissed, pausing with the next sled. The soldiers looked up, their own faces as sweat-soaked as the knight's. Even spelled, the statues weighed a ton, and had fought constantly as they were hauled into the city. The soldiers had to be constantly alert, watching for the tiny shifts in the engraved eyes as they fixed on their next target.

They had decided to take the most direct route to the island, and simply throw the statues onto it from the city above them. They used the same reinforced hole as before, and tipped the first statue in with the relieved smiles of people who were finishing a hard task. Then the smiles had frozen and they stopped moving, not meeting each other's eyes, as the Johi screamed its way through the still air and crashed into the stone beneath.

"Was anyone hurt? Was anyone underneath?" Guy asked rapidly. Alanna looked up, her face exasperated.

"How would I know, pray?" She said tartly, and then hauled the next sled up to the hole. The Johi on it was struggling now, having heard the other's scream. The knight stood back just enough so the translucent claws would miss her and realised that the others weren't helping her.

"What if we crush someone with them?" Kay asked, speaking for all of them. Alanna planted her hands on her hips and sighed dramatically, her voice dripping with furious patience.

"Well, first of all, most of the bandits left the island this morning. Second, the others are so deep under the water that not even the light can reach them. Third, can you think of a better way of getting ten pieces of solid rock across that lake?"

The men glanced at each other and shared a mental shrug. A single thought lingered in all of their minds: it was nearly dusk. The statues would wake up soon. None of these men were cowards, but nor were they fools. This time, when their leader moved the second sled, they helped tip the second statue into the cave. This time they steeled their ears against the screams and set to work tipping in the third one before the second had even crashed to the ground.

They were reaching for the fifth when it flickered, turning from stone into a thick watery mist for a few brief seconds before being dragged back into the shell with a howl. When its face reformed it had none of the manic deadliness they were used to; it was a child's face, warped with terror, eyes wide and streaming with tears. A few of the men stopped hauling on the stone for a second, shaking with something like guilt, before the others snapped them out of it. The fifth statue was sent tumbling into the darkness, and then the sixth.

The seventh caught fire, flickering like the fifth for a breath or two before its cage recaptured it. The burst of flame had burned through its ropes, and when they tried to pull it into the hole it tumbled from the sled. As it did so, the waiting statues began changing as well. Each flicker lasted a breath longer than the one before it, until it looked like the statues were moving in juddering slow motion.

"We're in trouble," Kay said conversationally, kicking the seventh statue as it finally started to slide into the cave. The others rolled their eyes at this statement of the obvious, looking to Alanna to make a decision. She looked around at the shuddering statues once, and then a slow smiled spread across her face. She knelt in the dust and sketched a rapid circle at her feet.

"Now we're in trouble." Guy saw what she was doing and grinned sardonically, watching various expressions from disbelief to terror shadowing his comrades' faces as they recognised the spell. "Better hold on to something, lads."

They scattered to the walls, finding footholds in window ledges and alcoves and hanging on like limpets. The statues stopped moving, if anything looking bewildered at these strange humans and their climbing act. And then...

And then the floor turned to ash, and everything on it dropped into the cave beneath. They dug their hands into the stone which held them above the abyss, watching the statues tumble with sickening speed into the depths. It took them a second to realise that Alanna hadn't fallen with them; she hung suspended in the middle of the air, one arm raised as if an invisible hand was holding her up. She laughed at their horrified expressions and looked down, watching the statues fall.

"Let go," she said to the soldiers. "And hurry up; we have to get to the island."

The men paled, some of them clinging more closely to the rock as if it would stop their obviously insane leader from making them jump off this cliff. Guy, with the same sardonic grin he'd been wearing when she first cast the spell which had melted the ground away from beneath their feet, launched himself off his ledge with a whoop and laughed giddily when another of the invisible hands caught him, glittering purple around his wrist for a second. One by one, the other men followed suit. When they were all caught in mid-air, the hands carried them down into the dark.


	42. Mortality

"Well now, isn't this nice." Elan sounded for all the world like he was at some tea party. A couple of the mages glanced up, baffled, but only briefly. The apparatus they were constructing was complicated, and any distraction could make a fatal mistake in the spell it was going to cast.

Elan sighed, spraying spit through the edge of his gaping, decaying jaw. He'd been propped up in one corner like a rag doll, limp and powerless. He ran one claw down the ground, hoping to make one of them look up again with the dry screeching sound. A turquoise tile cracked and splintered under the silver blade, but none of them even glanced around.

He didn't recognise any of these men, either. They weren't men from the tribes. They were too organised, too militant. Still, that wasn't a problem. Getting to know someone was easy... he stared at the nearest man, concentrating on the mass of cabbage that was his pathetic mind. Of course, staring wasn't necessary, but it was worth it just to watch the man squirm. He was almost impressed at the lack of reaction; the man barely looked up. Oh well, time for plan B. The cabbage surrendered a maggot of information.

"Your sister Nanie is very pretty," he started, seeing the man blink and grinning as he hit a nerve. Daine rolled her eyes from the corner where she was working, sorting salt into bags so that it could be used to draw circles on the ground.

"Ignore him." She said levelly, "He's just trying to distract you."

Elan grinned slowly, seeing the man's eyes sliding towards him. The morsel of information had grown into another thought, which danced through the man's mind as clearly as a flame. "You're right to worry about her. So pretty with that long black hair and big blue eyes, and so young... but I don't think she's as innocent as you think she is."

The man made an involuntary movement and then realised he was being baited. He spoke through gritted teeth, "You keep your damn thoughts to yourself."

The creature kept speaking, his eyes sliding shut as if he could see the woman on his eyelids. "Ah yes, but there was a man, wasn't there? He works in the kitchens. Greasy hair, that one. Ugly." He grimaced at the image, as if his own broken face was a model of beauty. "Big, strong hands though... I expect your sister likes them. Did you ever ask her? I bet she..." His voice cut off in a hissed shriek as a fist clouted him across the jaw. He glared up at the soldier, a bloodied thread of drool swinging from one lip as his cheek flushed with bruising blood.

"I swear to the gods," Elan hissed poisonously, "You will regret doing that."

"Slime ball," His attacker wasn't the soldier who had been goaded, but a completely emotionless Markus, who didn't glance back as he moved across the room. Elan spat blood on the floor, missing the salt markings by wide inches, and leaned back against the wall petulantly.

The wall shuddered, and then made a sharp noise as cracks shattered their way through the glass tiles. Everyone looked up, frozen. For a heartbeat no-one moved, and then as one they glanced outside the crypt at the glass wall which held the water back. It didn't shatter, but it groaned briefly from the stress as the stones around it finished shaking.

"Earthquake?" One of the soldiers asked quietly, taking a deep breath. Kray shook his head and laughed briefly.

"Alanna." He answered. "It has to be."

Another tremor ran through the palace, and a shower of dust rained down from the ceiling. Elan cackled from his corner, holding a hand up feebly to catch the drifting debris.

"I can breathe underwater." He said idly, making a point of not looking at the crushing depths behind the glass walls. All the humans exchanged looks, varying from 'rolling my eyes' to 'I can punch him again if you want me to,' and returned to their tasks. Elan gritted his teeth with an audible click and started tapping his nails against the floor again. Since talking was all he could do, he carried on with good will. "Arra, sweetheart, can you swim?"

She looked up. "We're trying to help you, you know."

He laughed at that, a genuine sound of disbelief. "Help me from my suffering, you mean?" He held his wrists out, vulnerable veins bulging under translucent skin. "Would this help? I want to be helpful."

Daine ignored that, handing her last bag of salt to one of the soldiers, who smiled his thanks. She gestured at the pattern they were intricately shaping on the floor. "This will take the spell out of you so we can destroy it. Then you'll be human again."

"Only physically," one of the men muttered, not quite inaudibly. Elan smiled coldly and pushed a fin back over his ear, claws scraping against bone.

"Why would I want that, Arra dear?" He cracked his knuckles lazily. "I'm an immortal now. Im-Mortal. It means I can't die. Understand? And..." he waved a finger warningly at the room in general, "Before one of you mutton-headed lugs thinks to suggest it: I don't want you to prove me wrong. And Sarralyn doesn't either."

"Sarralyn?" Daine echoed, sounding confused. She'd kept the baby as far away from this monster as she could- at the moment she was safely with Numair in the corridors. Elan smiled brightly- which, in his case, meant with less charisma and a lot more shining teeth.

"Well, if this spell works then you'll use it on her too, right? But if it doesn't, well..." He shrugged, "No great loss, you can try something else, what a shame that Elan had to die, you were so fond of him..."

"Daine," Numair's voice interrupted Elan's from outside. Daine thanked whatever gods were listening and walked away from the creature as quickly as she dared, hating his smug laughter as she turned away. Numair had been circling the outside of the crypt, casting a complete ward on all the walls so that none of the magic they were casting inside of it would affect the main palace. At least, that was the idea. Like everything on the island, they had no idea if it would actually work.

He had stopped, though, and was staring up through the glass at something in the far distance. When Daine reached him, he pointed at the distant shapes. Daine looked, and caught her breath. It looked like every single one of the Neferii were swimming towards the upper floors of the island, their faces set with grim fury. When they reached the glass walls they pressed their hands to them, and were drawn through as if the solid windows were nothing more than soap bubbles.

"They started flocking to the palace when it shook," Numair said quietly. "I think the Johi are here."

Daine shivered despite herself and looked back at the water. There were so many of them, and they were all so angry... "What do you want me to do?"

He looked surprised. "Do? Nothing. I wanted to talk to you, and the Neferii just reminded me that I don't have much time to do it in."

She blinked at him, expecting him to say something about the spell or the plan. He started his next sentence and she interrupted him almost instantly, horrified.

"If I die-"

"Don't say that!" She made a sign against evil and glared at him. He sighed, more amused than exasperated.

"Oh grow up, magelet. Saying something out loud doesn't make it any more likely to happen, no matter which of the fates may be eavesdropping. No, listen." He caught her hands. "I don't know if this spell is going to work. I've only said that a few times in my life, and every other time was when I was a student. Every time, my teachers would say... it's simple: if you don't know, then don't do it. See, it could backfire, or spread out of control, or fizzle out in the air and take me with it. Half of the patterns on that floor are protections against that kind of thing, but I'm still not sure. If I had any other choice, I wouldn't even think about casting this spell."

"Then..." she started, and then shook her head. "No, you won't let me talk you out of it, will you?"

"I knew that you'd feel as if you should." He smiled gently, "But I don't want you to spend the rest of your life thinking, if only we'd tried this, or perhaps this would have worked. Believe me, if there was any other way to do this, I would have found it. I need to know that you believe that."

Daine stared at her feet. Her boots were covered in dust from the ceiling. "Aren't you scared?" She asked, wondering how he could speak so calmly about dying. He laughed- slightly too brittle.

"The patron god of this island made a point of telling me that I was an idiot. Since it's only slightly less flattering than his normal opinion of me, I don't know whether to take that seriously or not. It's not so much the idea that the spell could kill me, it's the not-knowing, the uncertainty..." he tailed off and admitted more shakily, "Yes, sweetheart, I am scared. I'm not used to... to not knowing things."

There was another crash from above them, and they both looked up at the ceiling. The timbers swayed as if they were made from fabric, squealing as they were warped from the ceiling and walls, but held. Daine and Numair covered their heads with their hands as paint, gilt stones and fragments of tile fell with the dust. They grimaced when the tremor stopped and brushed the debris from their hair. They didn't need the mages to call them to know that time was up: the spell had to be cast, and before the palace crumbled into nothing.

888

Tyro threw himself to the ground as another tremor shook the palace. He coughed as he gasped in a lungful of the dust that was already an inch deep on the ground, disturbing a new cloud of it into the air. A sharp sound like a whip rang through the air, and a thin crack snaked through the glass, inches away from his face. He gulped and scrambled to his feet, unsteady as the floor rippled, and staggered away.

This is mad! He thought desperately, Why am I running further into this death trap? If I don't get crushed I'll drown, and if I don't drown then those monsters will slaughter me! Why didn't I leave?

Each thought took as long as each gasping breath, and each breath was an unsteady stride further into the depths, and soon he was running at full speed again. When the palace wasn't groaning and shrieking itself into rubble he could hear the bandit's running footsteps ahead of him, littered with cursing each time the floor shifted. But those sounds weren't nearly as unsettling as those behind him; blended with the delighted shrieks of the living statues were the enraged hissing snarls of the Neferii as they bled through the walls towards their centuries-old foes. Tyro wondered if the immortals would attack each other or the humans first. He couldn't imagine either group being too happy about the statues being hurled down onto the island.

He stumbled and fell to the ground again, hitting his head against the glass wall as he fell. It felt brittle, like spun sugar, and a spider-web of tiny cracks radiated out from where he'd hit it. A chip of glass fell into his hair, and when he brushed it out it turned to ice, then water, in his hand. He swore under his breath and started running again.

This time he was too quick; he turned a corner and, with a shout, one of the bandits spotted him. They all skidded to a halt as one, boots kicking up debris as they turned to glare at the intruder, hands drifting to their weapons. Tyro stopped and stared back at them, his breath hitching as he tried to fill his lungs with dust-filled air.

"Well well, look who's here." One of the men said languidly, taking a step towards his old leader. "Forget something, did you?"

Tyro gulped in a lungful of air to reply, and started coughing instead. The men laughed, drifting outwards until they were in a rough semicircle around him. Their laughter was cruel, the sadistic laughter of children pulling the wings from flies. Tyro realised in a rush that he'd rather listen to the Johi screaming than that noise. Damn it, these men were supposed to be human!

"What are you doing here, Tyro?" One of them said, his voice almost casual. Despite the lightness in his voice, the man was gradually drawing his knife free of its sheath, eyes narrowed. The unspoken question was obvious: how much have you heard?

Tyro straightened up, wiping dust from his mouth and unconsciously leaving a clean streak on his cheek. He made his own voice as nonchalant as possible.

"Alright, Bran?" He greeted the other man, surprising a nod in return. He smiled openly and nodded around the circle, naming the men he knew and smiling widely at those who he didn't recognise. It didn't do much to defuse the tension, but it unsettled the men enough for them not to jump him straight away. He took a careful breath and kept talking, hands in pockets. "I noticed you didn't cross to the mainland, see. So I came looking for you. Looks like we left on the right day, eh?"

"Right day bollocks." One of the others said broadly. "It's all that mage and his whore, that's what this is. And you, giving them our palace like this? Right day. Pah!" He spat on the floor, the saliva dark with the dust he'd breathed in, and took an axe from its holster on his back with grim intent. Tyro looked from the axe to the man's face, sighed and rolled his eyes.

"You do realise that this building's falling to bits?" He demanded, exasperated. The bandit shrugged and ran a thumb along the edge of the blade. Some of the others looked around, as if they had only just noticed that the walls were creaking. The great shocks of the statues falling had stopped, but the damage to the walls had been too much- great jagged cracks were snaking down glass and stone alike.

"What now?" Tyro asked, instead of pressing the point. The bandits shrugged as one, looking to the axe wielder as their leader. The leader looked up, one blue eye glinting under dark eyebrows.

"We're going to kill you."

"Ah, I thought so." Tyro sighed and spread his hands, wishing for another earthquake. He didn't really want the walls to cave in, but maybe a few drops of water...? Just enough to make these idiots realise the danger they were in. And to stop the danger that he was in! His prayers were answered; with a roar of stone, another shock shook the walls.

The water didn't flood in, but with a shuddering crack a huge chunk of the ceiling fell to the ground. While the other men covered their faces with their arms, Tyro made a break for it and ran back the way he'd come. The sharp edges of broken tiles scored across his face and arms as his ran, but he gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to duck behind something. A few scant seconds later, the bandits realised their prey had escaped and followed him. Tyro fled, cursing as he realised he'd be running up stairs covered in sliding debris. Still, at least he was heading towards the surface.

And... towards the monsters. They screamed ahead of him, and he nearly stopped. His legs kept going; as much as his mind tried to object to the idea of running, his legs simply weren't listening. He ran like a child, tripping and stumbling over debris, listening to the swearing behind him and the shrieks ahead.

And then, suddenly, there were shadows in the corridor ahead, shifting in the blue light. He gasped and stumbled despite himself, but he was going too fast to stop. He crashed into the corner in a shower in stone and grit, cursing and groping for his knife in one breath. There was a scrape of steel as swords were drawn, and he thrashed out blindly at them with the short blade.

"Now now, Tyro," the voice sounded amused, if impatient. "Put the toy away. It's just us."

He blinked and staggered up, still barely able to see in the cloaking dust. "Behind me," he gulped, "There's-!"

"Yes, we know." Alanna sounded more impatient this time, "We can hear them. But we can't do anything until you're out of the way, can we?"

He shook his head like a chastened child and ducked behind the crowd, realising that these dust-covered shadows were the rest of the knight's soldiers. They nodded a greeting to the stranger in their ranks, but their eyes were serious as they focused on the path ahead, silent and watchful. The bandits had no idea that they were running into an ambush, and tripped up the stairs with whoops as they followed their prey. There was a split second when their eyes met the glares of the soldiers, and before their grins could fade the ambush struck.

Alanna's soldiers were merciless and swift, and the untrained bandits were dazed from shock. The soldiers didn't speak, or taunt the bandits. They simply cut through them like a river through soft sand. Tyro wondered for a split second if he should be fighting too, rather than cowering behind these protectors- but he didn't want to be caught in the middle of that fight. The bandits fought back with obstinate strength when their surprise had faded, refusing to stay down even when struck with deep wounds. Several of the soldiers were thrown to the floor, when men they thought were dead grabbed at their ankles and stabbed through their thick leather boots. Unused to this kind of street fighting, the soldiers cursed and fell heavily, rolling when they hit the ground and often striking the walls of the narrow corridor. They recovered quickly, though, and despite himself Tyro was impressed with the skill that they fought with. It was breathtaking to watch the King's Champion wielding a sword, even if she was fighting foes who had learned to fight by poking trees with sticks. Still, the redheaded blur of fury couldn't be everywhere at once, and a few bandits from the back of the crowd peeled away and ran back down the stairs, unnoticed.

"Are you alright?" A voice said, and with a start Tyro realised that the fighting had stopped. The soldier who asked the question was covered in blood- apparently not his own- and pulled the bandit to his feet with more brute strength than helpfulness. Tyro managed a watery grin, nearly swinging from the man's grip.

"I'm fine. Good at running away, me."

"We noticed." The soldier said dryly, and let go. Tyro staggered when he fell, and then looked up to see Alanna swiftly cleaning bloodstained dust from her sword.

"How did you get past the Johi?" He demanded, unable to keep the gratitude from his voice. The knight shrugged and sheathed the blade.

"They're tearing up the place. They weren't interested in us. Don't worry, they'll follow us soon." She met his eyes, her own deadly serious. "If we want to get out of this death-trap alive, we have to be quick. It won't even need a spell to make it collapse; if someone sneezes at the wrong time we've had it."

"The others are still in the crypt," Tyro pointed out, and then felt foolish when she rolled her eyes.

"I know that. Do you think I'd have dragged this merry lot down here, if it wasn't needed? See, that was just my polite way of telling you to move it."

The bandit blinked, and then realised the other soldiers had moved on, already further down the steps. He flushed and sprinted to catch up with them. As he found his stride next to one of the shorter men, the soldier grinned and pointed upwards.

"She decided the quickest way to get here was to jump off a cliff," he said, not very reassuringly. "I'd keep moving, if I were you, before she decides that it'll be quicker to make you swim."

888


	43. Flood

Bright fragments glittered as they fell to the floor, shining on the ornate tiles like brilliant diamonds. The blue light wavered on them as the windows bowed and shifted, and the diamonds moved with the light. Slowly, so slowly at first that the imagination saw them move before the eyes, they began to melt. The tiny droplets turned into puddles, then into tiny rivulets which streamed down the stairs, melding with other streams as they sank into the depths of the palace. Beside the crystal river, the walls trembled and the fragments dripped down, the light rain turning into a torrent.

In the upper floors of the palace, the streams were so light as to be almost invisible. A creature, shrieking with laughter as it tore door from its frame with vicious claws, darted into the stream. The water steamed where it stood, and the creature screamed as if it was burned by acid. It flung itself to safety and gibbered a curse at the liquid, cradling the skeletal stump which was all that was left of its foot. The other creatures cackled and pushed at the hurt one, revelling in its pain, but were more easily distracted than was their usual childish way. One pointed at the water and said something in that strange gibbering language, and this time the croaking sounds could almost be words. The others stared at the water, sniffed at the water and even dipped their fingertips in it, shrieking when it burned them. As one, they straightened up, eerily silent, and stared at the river's graceful path down into the vaults. Their eyes narrowed. They followed the water.

They moved slowly. The walls of the palace had crumbled, stones spilling into the glass-like outer corridors and blocking the way. They forced their way through each barricade, sometimes with strength, sometimes by burning or freezing the stone until it joined the swirling dust that filled the air. The creatures didn't care; they didn't breathe, so why would the dust harm them? The water burned them, but with the dust filling the stream and clogging its path the liquid hurt them less. They screamed and laughed and pushed at each other as they travelled, tearing at any remaining walls with savage claws until the graceful walls looked more like rugged stones.

At the end of the pack, trailing far behind, some of them were picked off silently by translucent hands. The Johi didn't care about those few that were unlucky enough to be caught. They didn't stop to try to pull them back when the hands dragged them through the decaying glass walls into the burning lake. They didn't notice. They kept moving. Now, deep in this airless tomb, they could smell the blood red stench of the spell.

"Alright, everyone stand back." Numair could feel the magic in the air, bristling furiously even at the small defensive spells that had been cast in the room. It itched under his skin. A few of the other mages in the room looked uncomfortable too, scratching at their arms and faces as if they could tease out the magic with their fingernails. He wondered if he should tell them that it would get worse. A few of them knew already; he'd discussed the spell with them seriously before they had even started the wards. But he wondered if they understood.

But there- again!- he was thinking too much. Wondering if people knew what they were letting themselves in for... at any moment the palace could collapse and crush them, and they were all standing around in a tomb waiting for a spell to do... something. That was another thing he wondered about. What on earth were the immortals doing, to bring the palace down like this?

"I'd stand back too," the drawling voice shook him from his thoughts, and he blinked at Elan, who kept talking. "But I can't stand, you know. Back, or otherwise."

"Well, it's the thought that matters," Numair said lightly, feeling a strange urge to laugh at the expression on the creature's face. Apparently he'd expected a less flippant reaction. Still, the words had been enough to prompt him to act. He knelt down at the edge of the markings and gently broke the line of salt with his fingertip.

Don't think. Thoughts are wasted on this spell. That was the problem. We thought and thought about it for so long that there wasn't a spell any more, just ideas in our minds. I think too much.

He waited in silence instead, waited until he could feel the spell through his fingertips, burning in the salt and itching under his skin. He waited until he could taste it in the air, and every breath drew it into his lungs. He waited until he could hear it echoing in his heartbeat.

I know what you are, he said to it, as if it could listen to him. What invocation did he have? What words could he chant to something born of blood and water and dust? The spell was older than words and more primal than untamed fire. Words would do nothing. But he needed words, just like he'd needed thoughts. He needed to believe that he could control the spell, because he understood what it was, and even though it could not hear him, he told it so.

You don't scare me. He told it, barely noticing the salt burning into black flames around him. The spell had no answer; or at least he could not hear an answer. He felt its power as a thousand dark strings, throwing their web into every living and dead thing on the island. He could call it back from any of them, but where would it go? He tried to tear the magic from the dark stain he knew was Elan, but it slipped from his fingertips like oil and flowed through the web, bleeding into everything else.

This room was its heart. He had known that since the first time he saw the spell. But the magic didn't stay still; it pulsed through its heart and fled across the lake, then back again. The only places where it remained, if only for a brief time, were the two dark blots he knew were Elan and Sarralyn. Taking the magic from them did nothing; it had nowhere else to go but back. He tried again. He could control the spell easily, directing its path from within like a stone thrown in a stream. But he couldn't stop the stream from flowing.

The spell doesn't exist. He realised, feeling cold. It's not really there. The only places where it's real are... are in those two. I could try to stop it for years, and it would still be there. It needed them to make it solid.

But...

The web was flowing towards the two shadows, power draining into them faster and faster even as he watched. What could be causing that? He looked further away from the room, and saw the silver shapes of the immortals making their way through the palace, towards the crypt. With every step they took, the spell moved more quickly. With every minute that passed, more of it it drained into the two mortals, compressing and strengthening even as the web weakened.

He forced his eyes open, thinking so quickly that his head spun. There was one other thing that the web had told him, and he needed to tell the others before it was too late. He blinked to clear his vision, seeing the nearby soldiers through a sea of unfocused spots.

"The palace is part of the spell. It's not a building, it's a... a husk. And the spell is moving." He said, trying to think of a way to explain when his head was whirling too quickly to think. "The spell's trying to protect itself. It's... it's pulling the palace down on itself. You have to run, now!"

The men glanced at each other, uncertain, and then one of them nodded. They left without a word, but some of them stopped and clapped a hand on the kneeling mage's shoulder as they passed him. Numair tried not to acknowledge the sign of respect. Even if they thought he wasn't getting out of this alive, he wasn't planning on dying down here!

"We're staying here, are we?" Elan asked from his corner, sounding almost uncertain. Numair nodded, rubbing his forehead to clear his thoughts. If the Johi come down here the spell will ground itself. They know how to cast it. There must be a way... or they must root it, or... something must happen. If it stays in one place, even if it's just for a second, I can destroy it. They'll come for Elan, and then I can...

He jumped when another hand touched his shoulder- not one of the soldiers this time, but smaller, comforting.

"You should leave," he said, not looking around. "I have to wait for the Johi to get here."

"That sounds like a sensible plan." Elan called, his voice sardonic. At the mention of the creatures he'd paled, his death-like skin even whiter in the blue light. If the spell was making him feel stronger, he didn't show it. Daine scowled at him and knelt down, careful not to touch any of the salt markings when she moved.

"Don't think I'm being noble, or stupid." She said with a wry smile, her voice soft so Elan couldn't overhear. "The Johi will follow Sa, after all. I'm being practical."

"But you can leave." He put every ounce of stubbornness he possessed into his voice. It didn't work. Daine sighed, her own voice less gentle when she retorted.

"Well, I could, but someone spent a fair while earlier telling me how dangerous this spell is. Apparently it can backfire, or some such. Sarralyn will really, really scream when they get here. I don't think looking after her is going to help you to concentrate. You don't need the distraction."

"You're a distraction." Numair said flatly, but he didn't believe it any more than Daine did when she rolled her eyes at him. Rather than argue, she slipped her hand into his and squeezed it tightly, realising her own fingers were as frozen with fear as his felt. They knelt together for some time in silence, waiting, listening to the sounds from the corridor above them as the soldiers fought and dodged their way through the palace. They might have stayed silent until the Johi arrived, but Elan broke them out of their peace.

"Hey, mages, you want to see a good trick?" He grinned when they looked up, and raised a hand. It hardly shook; he held it steadily as if mortal strength flowed through it once again. And he pointed straight at Sarralyn, his grin growing as he spoke a single, spiteful command.

"Scream."

The sound was almost instantaneous; from nothing, the room was suddenly full of the sharp scream that only Sarralyn could cry. Both humans clapped their hands over their ears; an impulse, but it distracted them for long enough to miss Elan standing up, as strong and dangerous as the spell which fed him, and launching himself across the room.

"I won't- be- a sacrifice- for you!" He raged, his voice so loud that they could hear it about the scream. "I-won't!" He shouted as he crashed into Daine, tangling skeletal arms and legs around her as the force made them both sprawl across the room. He laughed maniacally as she struggled, the sound crueller and darker when Sarralyn started crying normally again. He got to his feet, dragging Daine upright with him as easily as a doll. She writhed in his grip, scratching and biting at the claws that dug into her skin.

"Stop it." He said, shaking her. "Don't you know I can't feel more pain than I already do?"

"Let her go!" Numair ran forward, dark pools of magic gathering around his hands. Elan flinched, and then laughed at his own fear.

"You can't attack me, idiot. You'd kill her, too. There's too much magic here." He looked up and licked his lips. "You can taste it."

"What are you doing?" Daine demanded, still trying to pull away. She thought briefly of shapeshifting, but knew she couldn't – not with Sarralyn strapped to her back. She couldn't face the thought of those silver claws near her baby. Elan shrugged.

"I really don't know. I suppose we'll just have to wait for the others to get here. I just want you two to stop."

"They'll kill you." Numair said flatly, hands twitching and eyes moving rapidly around the room as he thought frantically. Both he and Daine froze and stared at the creature when he started laughing – not because it was any more unsettling than any other laughter, but because it was so human.

"Do you know," he said, "I'd rather they took it, and killed me, than either of you took it while pretending you're doing it to help me? Petty of me, I know, but I've had a lot of time to think." He sniffed the air and licked his lips again, as if the magic in the air was a fine wine. "This place was so perfect for us... for me. For everyone. We didn't have to know anything about this island, or the creatures in the lake, or try to live in the city. Why did you have to spoil it?"

"If we hadn't, then someone else would have," Numair's voice was slow, as if he was talking to a small child, and even though he was talking to Elan his eyes were fixed on Daine. She looked back, trying to read him, to work out what he was planning. He wasn't frantically searching for an idea any more. She could see that in the deliberate way he was moving... but the only thing she was sure of was that the screaming creatures were only a few floors away, and that her shoulders hurt where Elan's claws were digging into her skin.

Numair kept talking, walking as if at random while he spoke, towards the spell on the floor. "If we hadn't been here, then someone else would have crossed the lake, or fallen through the city, and ended up on the island. It might have been five years, or ten, or a few weeks after you got here. Do you really think you could have stopped it? This whole place was a nightmare just waiting for someone to dream it."

"How poetic," Elan sneered, leaning over Daine's shoulder to whisper in her ear. She tried to pull away from the stench of rotten fish and clotted blood that oozed from his lips, but he dragged her back. "I think he's planning something, don't you, pet? But he should know that if he tries anything... anything at all, or takes one step closer to that...that pretty picture on the floor, then... well. Why don't you tell him what will happen?"

She was expecting it, but she still couldn't help crying out in pain when he gouged his claws deeper into her shoulders, laughing maliciously. She bit her lip to stop herself from screaming and glared around at her captor.

"Do your own damn talking." She spat. "I won't. Not even a scream. Only a coward takes hostages. And only an idiot would obey a coward. I'd rather die. Go ahead and do it."

He stared back at her, momentarily taken aback, halfway between amusement and sullen anger. "Is that supposed to impress me, wife?"

"You?" She caught her breath for a moment, so scared that she felt almost elated. She almost had to shout to be heard over the noise of shouting and screaming; the immortals were here. Elan's glare would have terrified her a few weeks ago, but now she could see the weakness in his eyes. She smiled as a black spark drifted across one emaciated cheekbone. "Oh no, I wasn't talking to you."

Elan blinked, and then snarled as he caught sight of another spark. Howling, he stared around to see Numair crouched by the spell, his face drawn as he flooded it with magic. This close to Elan, Daine could feel the power being ripped out of him, like a flood of water, so rapidly that the man's immortal skin withered around its mortal shell. Last time Numair had tried to take the spell away he had been gentle, trying to coax it away. Now he ripped it away with all the violent strength he possessed.

"No... no!" Elan swatted at the black sparks as if he could squash them, hurling Daine away in his frantic dance. "No, that's not fair! You can't just... you said you would help me!"

Daine dragged herself upright and watched, feeling sick as the creature writhed in pain and staggered closer to the spell. Her voice was almost inaudible. "You said you didn't want our help."

Elan howled again, gurgling as air rushed through gills and throat at the same time. He fell to the floor, gasping in breaths of water as he landed in a puddle, and then staggered upright again and forced himself towards the rise in the floor where the chalk circle lay. Perhaps he meant to scratch it out, or splash it with water, but when he got closer he saw that the water that had started lapping at it couldn't disturb the salt. It was more solid than stone; more real than the air he struggled to breathe, and as immutable as bedrock. He cursed loudly and staggered over to the mage, claws outstretched.

"I... said... you... not... to...!" He gasped, each word an effort. Numair looked up sharply and raised a hand, his arm shaking from the effort of moving and casting the spell at the same time. Daine thought perhaps he simply meant to stop the creature in its tracks, but when he opened his palm the same thick stream of magic they could all feel coursing through the air crystallised, visible like a beam of thick, noxious light, dragged from Elan into Numair.

"Don't!" Daine cried out, starting towards them.

And then the world went mad.


	44. Losing

They had no idea how long they'd been fighting, but they did realise when they'd reached the crypt. Suddenly the screams and cries of the immortals behind them didn't echo back at them, but spun back into the huge crypt to sound richer and darker. The air felt heavier here, too; suddenly it was hard to breathe, and a struggle to get their breath back after the long run.

Every so often they'd turned and faced the creatures, waiting for them to transform for long enough into a solid shape to be pushed back, or playing the recorder to distract them for long enough for others to make an escape. Any trick that they could play to slow the Johi down was tried; they tried leading them astray in the labyrinth of tunnels, but the creatures seemed to have an unerring sense of direction. As soon as the humans were away from the path the children ignored them, but if they were in the way they would tear at them, laughing and playing.

Still, they slowed them down enough for the water to lap around their knees, and the immortals began to struggle to move through the tunnels. Then the humans turned around and ran, trying to catch up with the bandits ahead of them, and stay ahead of the Neferii behind them. So when they finally reached the crypt it was with a sense of relief and a sense of horror. Whatever had happened, or was going to happen, this was the point where they could no longer run away.

Tyro burst through the door first. Alanna had told him that his useless poking with that toy sword made him useless as a fighter, so he was more than happy to scout ahead. As he said, he was good at running away. Still, he didn't know what to expect, and slowed down to take in the scene in front of him.

The crypt had nearly a foot of water on the floor, but a strange sigil glowed in the middle of the room. Kneeling next to it, hardly noticing the water, Numair and the creature that had once been Elan were locked together in a frozen tableau. The mage's hand was lightly resting on Elan's back, while Elan had sunk claws deep into Numair's back and then frozen, unable to move. They both glowed with an eerie light. Daine stood near them, her own back soaked in blood, holding Sarrlyn so tightly that the baby was whining.

Tyro thought none of them had noticed him, but when he rushed forwards to pull Elan away from Numair, Daine called out sharply, "Don't!" When he skidded to a halt, splashing them all with frozen water, she smiled thinly in greeting and said in a small voice, "It's pointless. They're... they're in each other's heads, I think."

"Can't we do something? The creatures will be here soon..." Tyro asked. She shook her head, looking sickened, and then flinched when the door crashed open again.

"They're nearly here!" Alanna shouted to the world in general, making her usual subtle entrance. "Get ready!"

Daine took a deep, shuddering breath, and then turned away from the two men. As more soldiers poured into the room she gathered her gift around her, ready to defend them from immortals, but when the soldiers roared a battle cry and charged, it was against more mortals.

"They're... um... traitors." Tyro said apologetically, seeing her confusion. "I think they hid in one of the tunnels until we overtook them."

The girl's eyes narrowed as she recognised the men who had tried to take Sarralyn away. The soldiers fought incredibly well, moving like lightning even in the knee-high water, but the bandits fought with the cunning and ire that they had learned fighting for men who never forgave mistakes. But there was something... something else, something wrong. Daine stared around, trying to work out what was wrong. She unconsciously backed up, closer to Numair, ready to defend him even though all the fighting was still going on near the door, and no-one even knew that they were there.

When she thought about it, it was a perfect distraction. If she was trying to get to the spell, she would use the time to...

She gulped in a breath and ducked under the water, opening her eyes in the stinging cold to look around. The water was a torrent of currents and bubbles, kicked about by the people in the room and stained faintly with blood and dirt. It was just water. Just water, but... some of the currents moved against each other, and some moved too slowly, and...

... and a pair of glowing eyes flashed open and glared at her under the liquid. She gasped in icy water and surfaced, coughing up water in her shock, wondering how the Johi could be in the water when before it had burned them. Without thinking she sent out barriers, shielding everyone against the creatures. When the Johi crept through the water and attacked unguarded feet, she felt them crash against each shield and heard them hiss their anger.

"They'll come for us now." She told Tyro breathlessly, trying to make the shields as solid as possible before the Johi launched their full attack. He blinked, confused; as far as he could tell, the only threat in the room was the other bandits.

"Who?" He asked, "Alanna's taking care of them."

Daine tied Sarralyn to her back, frozen fingers moving too slowly for her liking, and nodded at the water. It looked like it was boiling, and she could feel the Johi pushing against her gift, testing it with more strength each second. Tyro glanced at the maelstrom and paled, reaching for the recorder on his belt.

"I don't think that will work." Daine said flatly, "It's the same thing that attacked us before. Go and warn the others. It's only going to attack me... well, for now."

"That's not a good thing..." Tyro started, and then shrugged and ran off when Daine shot him a scathing look.

She wasn't at all sure how she was going to fight it, just that she had a better chance than anyone else. The children had all grouped together because separately they couldn't break her shields. She just had to keep the shields up, then, and perhaps they would think that this new idea was useless, too.

That idea quickly fled when a monstrously huge hand sped from the water and slammed towards her. Any shield would be crushed. Daine leapt out of the way, rolling awkwardly through the water so as not to land on Sarralyn, and then spun around again to watch the creature. Apart from that massive hand it stayed under the water. Perhaps it's only a hand?

She watched it, not even daring to blink, ready to dive away again when it struck. The second time it crashed down, sending water droplets like bloodstained diamonds shooting through the air, she ran backwards. It followed her. Good. Follow me. Stay away from Numair. The longer it's distracted, the more time he has to fix the spell.

Out of breath, she was too slow to dodge the third attack, and it sent her reeling across the room. The hand grew a thousand silver-tooth lined mouths to snigger at her, and then screamed when the water suddenly surged, deeper and colder, and the Neferii streamed through the doorway in an endless horde. The second group of immortals didn't even look around, but headed straight for the Johi. The hand fractured into a hundred pieces, separate children peeling off it like water drops from a cloud, and both groups of immortals crashed into each other in a whir of slicing claws and snapping teeth.

How long does a fight last?

It could have been two minutes, or an hour, or a year later, with the water lapping around their legs and steaming in the air. Daine couldn't tell. She could only see things in movement: the flitting shadows of the Johi, the solid silver of the Neferii between them, and the warm living flesh of the humans desperately trying to stay out of the fray. She could hear her own magic buzzing in her ears, as if holding the immortals away from her friends had shattered it into a swarm of stinging wasps, and the only still thing in the world was Numair, kneeling by the spell, one hand still resting on Elan's forehead, more like a statue than a human. As she glanced at him, ducking away from a screaming Neferii to shield Sarralyn from its claws, she noticed him rubbing his forehead in pain. As she struggled to get close enough to him to speak he keeled forwards, both hands clutching at his head, as if trying to shield his ears and his eyes from some invisible force. When he looked up his face was deadly white and dark blood trickled unheeded from the corner of one eye. Daine had to stop herself from gasping.

"What have you done?" she asked. When she caught his hand and felt how icy it was her own blood seemed to freeze in her veins. Suddenly, separate from all the noise of battle, all she could hear was his patient voice telling her, If I die... if the spell doesn't work...

It hadn't seemed real, then. It hadn't seemed real enough to be able to draw blood from his skin and heat from his flesh. The salt marks sputtered and sparked with black fire, like a hearth that refused to light, and in that moment Daine realised that the spell had failed. And with the same thought, she realised that until it killed him, Numair wouldn't stop trying to fix it.

Impulsively, she grabbed hold of his shoulder and pulled him away, almost heedless of the creatures around them as she dragged him upright and away from the spell. Was she imagining it, or were the immortals avoiding them? His hand was so cold that it felt like it was burning her, but she held on tightly and he followed her like a sleepwalker, his mind still trapped in the salt.

"What have you done?" She demanded when they reached the corridor. He didn't seem to hear her for a second, but then he started speaking, and his voice was a terrifying, decaying babble.

"It has to stay in one place. It has to be still." His eyes danced dizzily in their sockets; even though he looked straight at her, Daine knew that he couldn't really see. "I can draw it...I have Elan's, I can... I can hold it still for long enough to..."

"You can't!" Daine realised she was nearly crying, trying to break him away from the haze of magic which had taken him over. "You can't! You can't, it will kill you!"

His eyes closed and opened in one slow movement, like he was seeing the world through a waking dream, and then the dancing pupils were suddenly still and sharp. It was as if something had frozen him in place, eyes hollow, lips curving in a slight smile.

When he spoke his voice was eerily calm. "I can. There's no other way. I can do it. Give me Sarralyn."

"No." She tightened her arms around the baby and took a step away from him, suddenly frightened... for him, or of him? There was nothing left behind those black eyes except the abyss of magic. "No. I won't let you do it. You can't."

The fighting immortals seemed to dance behind Numair as he moved towards her, marionette-like as whatever was forcing him forward tried to remember how to make mortal limbs move. Whatever was staring out of his eyes was not the person she knew; she suddenly realised that the reason the Johi and Neferii were leaving them alone was because nothing in the world was more dangerous than this creature.

"Stop it," she whispered, holding Sarralyn so tightly she whimpered. "You're scaring me."

"This has nothing to do with you." The man said flatly, and for a split second she thought she could hear Elan's voice saying the words. The second's confusion was enough, and in one sharp movement Numair tore the baby out of her arms and has turned away towards the salt circle, towards the immortals. The Johi looked up and smiled.

"No- you can't! You can't do it, I won't let you!" Daine scrambled after him and hauled on his arm, cursing her smallness as he barely noticed her slight weight. She reached for Sarralyn, her fingertips barely touching the crying infant before he brushed her off, an annoyed line appearing between his eyes. The Johi circled them, laughing, as she blocked his path. He stopped and glared at her with those soulless eyes as she grabbed his arm, his shirt, pushing against him as if she could do anything except cry with a voice as desperate as her grasping hands.

"Please," she sobbed, "Please stop. Don't do this. Please..." she reached up, her hand shaking, and touched the side of his face. He didn't react. "Please, don't do this to yourself..."

He blinked, and for a moment a trace of warmth crept across his eyes. "Daine..." he said, his voice strangled, and then the warmth was chased away again. He scowled and moved, his nails biting into her wrist as he pulled her hand from his face. Without another word he shoved the girl away, so brutally that she crashed against the wall. She crumpled to the floor, half-stunned.

"This has nothing to do with you." He said for the second time, his voice just as flat as it had been before. The Johi parted, sniggering, to let him walk through them unharmed.

You've lost him. This time it was Kyprioth's voice, uncannily sympathetic in her dizzy haze. She shook her head violently to clear it, to fling the voice away, but the motion made it ache. When she raised her hand to the back of her head and looked at her palm, it was sticky with blood and blurred in front of her eyes. She blinked at it dully, trying to remember how to see straight. If she could see, she could act, but she could only blink and brush away the hot tears and the dark blood and hear the buzzing of her gift in her ears. She could only watch the strangely coloured blurs of the creatures around her, and the creature that had once been the man she loved, kneeling over her baby with hands that burned with icy fire. That sight, more than anything else, gave her a sudden surge of energy. Stop this.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. She staggered to her feet, struggling towards the spell with feet that could barely hold her. When her legs shook under her she let them, and crawled. When shards of stone cut into her hands she didn't stop to pull them out, but focused on the pain to keep her awake. All her attention was fixed on her crying daughter, and if the immortals tried to stop her she didn't notice. She crawled closer, hating herself for what she was about to do. Numair held one hand over the baby, his eyes shut, a slight smile playing around his lips. Perhaps the creature thought it had already won. Daine shuddered and crept as close as she dared.

When she was as close to the baby as she could get, Daine screamed at the top of her voice. Sarralyn's eyes widened and her crying increased from sobs into great heaving gulps of tears, and then switched to the almighty shriek which obliterated all other sounds. The sound made Daine's heart twist even as she thanked the gods for it. Numair's eyes flew open and he flinched away from the sound; like the Johi, he couldn't make a move towards the child while she screamed. Even as he shoved himself away, Daine picked up the infant and scrambled away.

"You're not human anymore," She said, unable to hear the words but knowing that the thing in Numair's skin could hear her mind-voice. His eyes narrowed and he made a move towards her, mercifully slow and flinching away from Sarralyn's screaming, but with eyes full of menace. Daine kept talking, kept moving away. "You're one of them. But you're no more to them than Elan was. They'll use you and destroy you to get the spell. That's all they want."

The creature licked its lips slowly, thinking, inching towards her with its eyes fixed on Sarralyn. If it had spoken in Numair's voice she might have faltered, but the mind-voice it replied with was so inhuman it barely sounded like words. Was this the voice of the Johi? It was a child, or a thousand children, but so cruel and bitter that it sounded like the slow drip of poison in her ears.

Do you talk to us like we wish to protect this piece of meat, mortal? Numair's face stayed set, blank, as the mind-voice laughed sardonically. Do not coax us. What is one man, or one mortal infant?

"Numair, I know you're in there somewhere. You're stronger than them. I know you can fight them..." Daine said, ignoring the gibe and still backing away. For every step she took the man took another step, easily keeping pace with its dizzy prey. Again it laughed, the sound making her shiver. The myriad voices almost sounded like they were arguing with each other.

You know? Yes, mortals believe. That is why they remain on the island. It is why they play with us. And you believe. That is why you will lose.

"Lose?" Daine barely asked the question before she noticed that Numair had drawn his belt-knife. Sudden terror made her stumble; she fell backwards, curling around Sarralyn to protect her, and the jolt made the baby stop crying. The creature took the chance to dart forward, hands outstretched like claws, and then mercifully flinched back when Sarralyn started screaming again. It grinned, or at least bared its teeth.

You cannot kill this corpse, because of your belief.

She pushed herself away from it, and then realised she was backed up against the wall. A few shards of glass dripped down onto her shoulders and melted, icy cold. She groped for her own belt-knife frantically, and then wondered what she could possibly do with it. The creatures were right. She couldn't defend herself with just a knife, and she wouldn't be able to kill this creature. Not when there was the faintest chance that Numair was still alive, trapped behind those deathly eyes. The hesitation gave the creature its chance; it saw the knife and seized her wrist, twisting it until the knife fell from her hand.

There was nothing she could do. The room spun and she shut her eyes, knowing Sarralyn wouldn't keep screaming forever. She knew no-one would come to help her; in this battle-ground, who would notice one more fight? She curled up around the child, waiting for the inevitable blow, the pain, and held Sarralyn close thinking that if she spent her last breath protecting her then maybe... but no. There was nothing else she could do. The world screamed...

"Daine."

The voice was gentle, more peaceful than anything in this nightmare should be. She uncurled slightly, looking up. The world was silent, as if it had been smothered under the softest down, and everything was still. The copper scent of blood still swam in the air, and the smell of smoke was bitter among it, but that didn't seem to matter.

The world was silent. Even Sarralyn had stopped crying... too suddenly. With a cry Daine tore at the fabric that held her baby, checking her for wounds, but the child was unharmed. She slept peacefully, happily, and completely. Nothing could possibly awaken her, not in this blanketed peace.

"Daine." The strange voice spoke again, this time with more of a command in it. She looked up, barely recognising the voice in its softness. It was not a voice that needed to be gentle. But it held command with ease, and she looked up despite herself. The soft world barely even whispered as the movement disturbed the frozen air.

The god was dressed as simply as she was, in clothes that could be fought in, and his usual wealth of gold was reduced to a single ring and a single chain which bound his throat so tightly it bit into the flesh. The last time she'd seen him he'd towered over her in a burning rage, now he seemed almost human. He sat in the corner beside her, knees drawn elegantly to one side. He had all the guise of a human, but he still as far from it as it was possible to be. One hand was raised delicately towards the room behind him, effortlessly holding time still in this gauze-swathed dream, and his eyes still burned dangerously with the opalescent fires of immortality.

"You scare me more, looking like that, than you ever did before." The girl whispered, her voice a ragged croak. The god smiled, the expression not meeting those opaque gemlike eyes, and held out a hand.

"It's time." He said in the stolen voice of mortality. There was no compassion in it at all, just that gentle command. "I'm here to reclaim my wager."

"Reclaim..." she echoed, and then blanched as she realised what he meant. She clutched the child closer to her. "No, no... you can't have her. You promised to take her home... "

"I won't break my vow." Still, that same guileless gentleness. "I cannot. She is no longer your daughter. You're carrying an empty husk, just a shell of flesh around my spell. And I cannot let you keep it. It is not yours."

"Liar." She whispered, and then said it louder, trying to drown his voice out with her own. "Liar, liar, liar, liar!"

Kyprioth's words passed through hers like fire through wax. If she had tried to keep speaking she would have choked on the words. "Stop it. You've known since the first time she screamed. You've known for weeks. And Daine, you've won. I'm not even angry at you anymore. You've beaten me. But you will give me that child." His voice darkened at the last, and the eyes sparked black for a second. Daine raised her face, not caring that it was streaked with tears, and held Sarralyn tighter.

"I don't care." Her voice was mulish, almost inaudible. "You can't have her. She didn't ask for any of this. And she's not yours. She's her own! Why should you take her? Take the spell if you like, and do what you want with it. It probably does belong to you. I don't know; I don't care anymore. But don't you take my daughter."

"Would you rather the Johi take her? They will be cruel. You have no idea how cruel they can be."

Daine looked up and almost laughed, the sound a hysterical gasp. She didn't need to say anything. She looked around at the room, at the fighting, at the pain and terror on the faces of immortals and humans alike. She didn't look at the thing that was once Numair. The twisted expression he wore was already cut into her heart. Her laugh turned into a sob, and as she looked back down at the baby to hide her tears she felt a hand stroking the hair back from her forehead.

"I misspoke." Kyprioth said gently. "You have felt their cruelty most keenly, and I am sorry for it. But you must make a choice now; I cannot let this... this mania continue."

As if to prove it, the god stood up and walked around the frozen mage, frowning slightly at the drawn knife that he held. He deftly uncurled Numair's fingers and took the blade away, furtively pocketing it before resting a palm on the man's forehead. Daine thought she saw a glimpse of silver smoke, but she looked away; it hurt her too much to see Numair like that. The trickster took his hand away, shaking it as if he had pins and needles, and whispered something into the frozen mage's ear before he sat back down, lounging casually against the wall as if he had no cares in the world.

"I wish I'd never made that bet with you." Daine said flatly. "If I could go back, I would believe you. I would say: you're right, it is impossible, it's not a game, and it's not worth risking everything to help people and creatures who don't even want to be saved."

He stared at her, his eyes impassive. For a second something shifted in his face- a glint in the eye, a twitch of the lips. "Is that your choice made, then? Are you throwing away your dice, little bat?"

She sniffled and glared at him. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm saying that I don't care anymore. You've won. I lose. I couldn't fix this cursed place any more than I could summon lightning. I give up. You can have whatever victory you like as... as long as you don't hurt Sarralyn. You win!"

He smiled suddenly, a rush of glee which could be felt as well as seen. The air exhaled with the heat of it. Abruptly he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. She could feel the mark burning, as if he was scalding his victory onto her skin, and just as abruptly he leaned back.

"Thank you, dear heart." he said, still smiling with that unearthly light, "I accept your defeat." He held a hand out to the baby, but this time palm downwards as if he could feel the spell radiating off her. Daine thought to instinctively pull her daughter back, but some warning spark in the god's eyes stopped her. He pulled his hand away, closing the palm up as if he was tugging at a piece of cloth. As he pulled, pale blue smoke leeched from Sarralyn's flesh and gathered in his palm. As more and more of it gathered it began to darken, shading through dark blues to greens and eventually to a sickly brown. It stuck to Kyprioth's skin like a cobweb, but he grinned heedlessly as it writhed and twisted, sinking barbed tendrils into his flesh.

"I'll tell you a secret, little bat," his voice was gentle again, almost tender, "with this, I can summon lightning." He looked up, and for a split second his eyes connected with hers. The fire in them was unbearable. It consumed the soft down of the frozen world, and the sounds began rushing back as if from a long way away. Still the fire grew, and the world trembled with it.

"You'd better run," Kyprioth said, and started laughing as the walls began to crumble around him.

Daine opened her mouth to answer, and then screamed as skeletal arms reached through the glass wall behind her and dragged her through into the icy lake. Her scream turned into bubbles, and then into nothing.


	45. The Dead City

I can breathe. The thought was shocking. She had thought that she would never drink sweet air again. Her lungs had burned, and struggled, and finally she had to drag in a breath of the frozen lake, desperate to fill her lungs and passing out when all that filled them was water. She had finally accepted the darkness. In this strange dream of laughing gods and broken bodies, what were a few extra hours of starlight? The strange, gemlike lake held her as closely as the clutching arms. It was oddly soothing, and perhaps it was as good a place to die as any other.

Still, the thought was there before any others, before she choked in a great gasp of air which left her choking and coughing up water. It was only when she could breathe again that she could think a second time: dragging her hands away from her face heavily and seeing her hair drift in the current around her: How can I breathe?

\- It seemed right, to show to you this place.- A voice said in her mind, instantly recognisable in its odd lilting words. For Ghada, though, the words were unusually quiet, almost sad. Daine blinked, her eyes stinging against the water. For some reason, it didn't feel that cold any more. She realised she was sitting on a stone ledge, at the top of an immense cliff. The height would have terrified her if she had been on dry land, but if she thought to fall here she would have to make an effort to swim downwards.

-Where am I?- she replied in the same way, looking around. Ghada sat a few meters away, not looking at her but staring dolefully over the edge of the cliff. She held Sarralyn in her arms, but it was clear the baby was just sleeping peacefully. She didn't even look wet, for all that her blanket floated in the water. Daine squashed her first instinct, to protect the baby, and forced herself to stay still. The azure world was so quiet it was like a dream.

-This is the city. This is the last time I will see it. I won't remember it. I gift you its image, little bat.-

-I thought you remembered everything?-

Ghada went almost unnaturally still at the question, but no other answer seemed to be forthcoming. Daine sighed, wondering if she really was asleep, and waved her hair away from her eyes so she could look down.

She saw...

Dear gods, what was it that she saw? If she had a thousand words she could never describe it. The solemn peace of the crystalline world wove in and out of the bright silver light that flowed so thickly through the water that you could almost taste it. Flowing through the lake it would taste sweet, clear, like the first sip from a glacial stream, but where it met and pooled at the base of the lake, there… ah, there it would taste like wine. There, it was caught and fragmented and coloured, and seeped into the lakebed like the finest dyes from a Carthaki merchant ship. Daine wanted to take a handful of that sand and let it flow through her fingertips, to see if the beautiful light had stained each grain in its own vibrant hues. Red, blue, green, purple… there wasn't a single colour she couldn't see, and together they were so bright that they were nearly painful.

Further up, though, before the light met the sand, the world was clear and shone like diamonds. The city, as familiar and rotten to Daine on the surface as the dirty ice-raped stone it was hewn from, was recreated here and made entirely of glass. Every current that drifted past shone in the buildings, which reflected bubbles and fish and light until you couldn't see where the lake ended and the city began. As Daine stared at it, breathless in her wonder, the city seemed to shimmer and solidify. A lone figure, as glacial as the buildings, sauntered nonchalantly from a temple and raised its arms to the heavens, as if stretching in the warm sun.

These are memories, Daine realised, staring at the man as he scratched his nose and walked on his way. Now that she could breathe again she looked more closely at the construction, noticing how some of the currents dragged at the roofs of buildings, and how every time it happened it made fragments of remembered tiles and stones drift away. The sight made her feel odd. When the buildings crumbled the light no longer shone through them, and she realised that the city was already surrounded by encroaching darkness. Without the city, the lake would be dark and empty.

-Are you dying?- Daine asked the question hesitantly, wondering if the immortal would even understand it. Ghada tilted her head to one side, eyes slanting sideways as if she was thinking.

-In a way...- she said slowly, -We are leaving the place where our lives are held. Where we remember. Without memories, are our lives real? We go on and live a new life, but this life must die. We will be like infants, learning how to watch the tide go out.-

-But why are you leaving?- Daine was genuinely baffled. There didn't seem to be any danger in this haven of light and crystal. But Ghada looked at it as if the sight of it made her sick.

-We are leaving because we can. Do you think we chose to live here, in this horrible, shallow, landlocked pond? We want to swim under the stars, little bat. We want to know the new, and the strange. And by all and at the end of all, we want and wish to be able to forget. - She smiled, but the gesture was oddly shaky. –Well, that's what the elders are saying. I am fearing forgetting. I want you to remember. I... I want to forget you, Arra-Daine, but I am frightened at the you- forgetting-me. So I am asking you. If you do not wish to, I will kill you. You cannot forget if you are too dead for memories to fade.-

-Mortals don't have a choice. We remember without choosing who or what we want to remember. There are lots of things... things I'd want to forget.- Daine swallowed, her mind flooding with images of the last few days, summoned by her own words. –Oh gods yes, I want to forget some things so badly! But I'll happily remember you, Ghada. You don't have to threaten me for that.-

-Threaten?- Ghada looked genuinely confused. –I just said another possible thing that would help my problem. The problem hurts me. You said friends wanted friends to not-hurt.-

-Yes. I did.- Daine smiled humourlessly and kicked her feet against the ledge. She wondered if, if she launched herself from the cliff, she would wake up. She might even fall. –Ghada, where... where can I remember you? I can't stay here. Where can I go?-

-Tay-Kiri told me to take you Home. I brought you to Home. Is this not correct? But if this is not Home I can take you somewhere else. For your promise of not-forgetting.-

-What about my friends? What did he say about them?- Daine had to stop herself from sounding too excited. Suddenly this dream-world made sense. Her glimmer of hope was crushed when Ghada simply shrugged- apparently Kyprioth hadn't made any deals for anyone else on the island. Perhaps they were dead, then. She remembered that he'd only agreed to take the survivors home, after all. The thought made her feel cold, but at the same time she was so distanced from it that the thought drifted past like the bubbles in the current. She wouldn't live her life thinking of perhaps. But...

Perhaps Numair survived the spell. After all, Kyprioth took the spell out of him, not another mage. Perhaps a god can do it properly. Perhaps... no, not even that. Don't think of 'perhaps'. Because after 'perhaps' you have 'perhaps not'...

Don't. Don't think like that. I promised Numair I wouldn't do it. He told me I would. I can't help it. But I can try.

Daine looked up from the cliff and smiled, holding her arms out to take Sarralyn from Ghada. The neferii handed the baby over without any hesitation, as if she hadn't been speaking about killing both of them a few moments before.

-Thank you, Ghada. I'm ready to go home now.-

-Not yet.- Ghada's voice had iron in it, and Daine held Sarralyn a little tighter, wondering if the creature was changing her mind. The immortal looked at her sidelong and then looked away again, seeing that the city was half in darkness now. A glass-man strolled into the darkness and vanished, never to reappear. Ghada's face twisted, and she said, -There is one last thing you need to see. Tay-Kiri said this was to be so. I do not think you will know it for a good thing, but he is the one who freed us, and we must be grateful and say yes to him again.-

Daine opened her mouth to argue, and then closed it again. She'd lost to the trickster, after all. She had no right to argue with whatever conditions he might demand… or to look away from whatever gloating he might want her to see.

Ghada stood up, fins billowing around her, and caught hold of Daine's arm. At the contact the sense of being under the water came back with a rush- the coldness of the lake, the rushing feeling of the water and the pounding strangeness of sound so familiar to swimmers. Daine was not a swimmer, and she had to shut her eyes when Ghada leapt from the cliff towards the darkening city, dragging the girl with her. The creature swam with incredible speed, weaving in and out of buildings and flitting away from patches of darkness with elegant ease, but even so it was terrifying to see walls of glass rushing towards you at high speed, only to be whisked away at the last possible moment.

They fled deeper into the city and then suddenly- down! Through a translucent building, crashing towards the sand… but when they got closer to the ground it vanished in a shower of crystal raindrops, and then they were under the lake bed and in a cavern. Like the city above, it was a perfect replica of the real cavern, but here the walls glistened like opals as the colours which bled into the sand above dripped through. Strange shadows drifted across each surface; faces and hands and strange gestures, as if each memory was closer and more intimate here. Ghada dragged them both towards the lake at the base of the cavern, but like everything else in this place it was different from the real lake. This lake was a mirror, as smooth and vast as a breathless sky, reflecting the faces around it into colour and whispers of secrets.

-Is this going to be destroyed too?- Daine asked, unable to grasp the thought of something so beautiful, so otherworldly, being hurled into that darkness. Ghada's lips tightened but she didn't reply; she stopped at the edge of the lake and stood there calmly, slowly releasing her grip on Daine's arm. She flexed a skeletal hand, moving the fingers gracefully as if they ached, and then gently touched one fingertip to the lake surface and whispered something. The mirror shimmered, and suddenly bulged upwards into a globe of glass, hanging suspended like a raindrop waiting to be smashed against the ground. While the mortal girl was gaping at this new sight, Ghada swiftly glided over to her and stared at the baby she carried, reaching out with one silver-tipped finger to caress the side of the child's face. Sarralyn burbled at the gesture but didn't wake up, even when Ghada took her hand away and a sliver of glass seemed to follow it. The shard fell, but the immortal caught it easily and carried it over to the globe.

-It is her memory. She is too young to keep it. They fall away from mortals like autumn leaves, and are not missed. She will not feel its loss.- Ghada looked uncertain for a moment, peeping back over her shoulder with knotted brows. –Normally, you see, it would be most terrible to take a memory unbidden. We do not allow. But she would not keep it anyway, and it would decay. You see?-

Daine didn't, not really, but she nodded anyway. The gesture made Ghada smile, sudden relief brightening her features into something close to beauty, and she turned around and pressed the shard against the globe. The globe splintered around the tiny fragment, and then seemed to heal itself, drawing from the tiny piece of glass to repair its fractures. And as they healed, like bleeding veins, they began to seep colours and light into the globe. Daine watched, spellbound, as the globe swirled with a thousand colours and shapes.

-This is Sa's memory?- She asked in wonder, looking for Ghada's nod before she stared back. Looking at the world through an infant's eyes was strange, but oddly beautiful. Nothing was distinct; colours were vague blurs, and the child's sight was more likely to focus on something brightly coloured than something important. Still, if she concentrated, Daine could just make out the shape of…

…The odd shape of a grown up, all two legs and two arms and ten fingers and toes, is too much for a single small pair of eyes to take in. Some grown-ups stand out because they are bigger or smaller or more brightly coloured than others. But this one will always stand out. This one has always been around, taller than the others and always smelling of tickly-sneeze and written-words. Without the words ink and dust the memory is no more than a series of fragments, but this one has a love attached to it, and they say it is called a Da. With the thought the image clears.

"Numair…" Daine breathed, inching closer to the glass orb. The images continued, now almost lifelike in clarity, although a little blurred around the edges.

The light is blue, and this is one of the cold places. Ma is in the next room with the loud men and I am glad to be away, because she is also with the one who stinks so badly that it makes me cry. But I am wanting my Ma, because she is part of my always-there, and I miss her. Da does not know I am awake. He looks blue, like the light, because he is close to the blue wall, looking at the blue water, and it makes him blue, too. I don't know what being blue feels like, but I don't think I want it. I whimper at the thought, and Da looks down at me.

"Little sweetheart," he says, in the quiet voice he only uses specially for me, "Do you know the answers, then?"

I can't talk, or else I would tell him I don't know. What are answers? I only know good and bad, like how being warm and sleepy is good, and how being blue and confused is bad. But I can't say anything. So I burble and blink and blow a bubble and he smiles strangely and then looks away.

The cold place shakes and Da has to throw out a hand to stop himself falling down. I don't make a sound at the shaking, because I am distracted by something else. When the first shake arrived, the world was suddenly brighter. There was orange and yellow and gold wrapped around a grown-up with darker skin than Ma or Da's. I cooed at the shiny orange colour, and Da looked around. I felt him take a big breath, like he was going to say big words or cry big tears, but he just bent over instead. I mewed at the sudden closeness and then smiled when he stood up straight and I could see the gold again.

"Lord Trickster," Da said, in a different voice to the special voice, so I knew he wasn't talking to me. I waved a foot outside my blanket idly. Cold toes! "Why… what… are you looking for Daine, sir?"

"No. She is being unreservedly boring. I assume she's doing it on purpose." The shiny grown-up waved a hand idly, fingers fluttering like the orange fire he must like a lot, to look so much like it! And then he was closer. He smelled like nothing in the world, like strange sweetness and spices which had nothing to do with the blue world at all.

"You are a fool." The shiny man said in a happy voice. Da breathed in again at the idea. How could he be upset over something said so nicely? The shiny man didn't seem to notice, he kept talking. "You know this won't work. I told you that myself."

"A trick." Da's voice was still quiet, but not nice. I shift uncomfortably. The shiny man smiled, his teeth almost as bright as the shiny orange things wrapped around his neck. Like Da's quiet voice it seemed like it should be friendly, but it wasn't.

"A trick it may be, but if I didn't know what the odds were I wouldn't gamble with them. At the end of the day, the hag's dice are made of honest bone… or at least, that's what she tells me. And I tell you, mage, that this idea of yours won't work."

"Good for you. I'm sure you'll be able to gloat from a distance." Da sounded sharp, and shifted me in his arms as if he was getting ready to walk away. The shiny grown-up held up a hand, and Da stopped, shaking. The other man sounded tired, bored, when he spoke again.

"Why do I always have to witch you to make you behave yourself, child? I'm being generous here. The least you can do is listen. And, you know, thank me." He didn't wait for an answer. Perhaps he wasn't thinking Da would make one, since he didn't seem to want to move anymore, either. His voice became a sing-song, like a nursery rhyme. "You know that the spell won't work. But you're going to try, because then at least you'll have tried your best, right? I'm offering you a chance. I know what will work. You know, the answers you've been looking for?"

"No, don't listen to him…" Daine breathed, resting her fingers on the glass and feeling the icy coldness of the memory for the first time. "Numair, you know it's a trick… you know it…"

"Some problems have more than one answer. You can't always know what we're going to do. If you did, you wouldn't have had to play with our lives like this."

"I know that you're prepared to risk your own life for this answer." The gold man cut across Da's words like a knife, and the hands that held me so securely tightened for a second. Whatever the man meant, it made Da flinch.

"So what if I am? Better my life than…"

"Than? Than? Do you think this works like a trade, mage?" The shining man laughed suddenly, his voice harsh like the birds that had swooped so terrifyingly past in the world of snow and cold light. "Don't you understand that this spell won't touch your precious life? It's not going to kill you. It's not interested in your life at all. What are you prepared to sacrifice for your than?"

He carried on speaking, his voice intense. "I tell you truly, you do not know the answer, and because of that you will not die. You will kill people, and not just the people you hate, but the people you love. In your damn pride and stubbornness you will think you're saving them right up until you tear their heartbeats from their throats and dance in their blood. And you will revel in every drop of it. You will laugh when they scream in fear, and not hear their pleas when they try to hide away. You will want to die. There will be moments, brief seconds, where you remember yourself and what you have done. You will fail."

"You're trying to scare me." Da's voice, normally so confident, was so quiet that even I could barely hear it. He touched my cheek gently, and his hand was cold and trembled. I whimpered and he jerked his hand away at the sound. Compared to his voice, the shiny man's words were warm and gentle.

"I'm telling you the truth, mage. I have seen it before, many times. It is time for it to end. Your Daine was, at least, right about that. I have seen it happen to many, many people, and I have never told them what I am telling you."

Da was strangely quiet, his breath hitching strangely as if he was trying not to cry. I do not think it was sad-crying; there are lots of different kinds of crying, and I think it was more the helpless crying that happens when there is nothing you can do. But I couldn't ask.

Daine realised she'd curled her hand into a fist so tightly that her nails had bitten into her palm, drawing blood. She pounded the glass with the fist, almost crying herself in frustration.

"You bastard!" She yelled, knowing that they couldn't hear her and not caring. "That's not fair! You can't do that to him!"

"What can I do?" Da asked slowly.

"No, don't ask him that!" Daine shrieked, "You're agreeing with him! He's lying to you!"

"Agree to my rules, accept my odds, and I will help you."

"You want to win the… the bet." Da's voice was strangely abrupt. The shiny man nodded.

"And you want to protect your family and destroy the spell, even if it means your own death. Correct? Then shake my hand, mage, and I will give you a bet which will solve both our problems."

When Da reached out slowly, the gold man grasped his hand as rapidly as a falling drop of water, and held on to it. His smile, this close, was all teeth.

"You will do as you planned, and so the spell will possess you… as I said it would. Try to restrain yourself from killing your family for as long as you can; I can't take the spell unless the mortal giving it is holding it all, and that takes some time. I warn you, it will want to destroy. It hasn't had fun in a while. And it will want to destroy… her." He looked down at me, and for a second he grinned and I could feel his mind, like a ray of sunlight, making my thoughts shine brightly. When he looked up again Da's face was set and he listened to the rest of the instructions in silence.

"You gave him the spell…" Daine breathed, palm pressed flat against the glass as she listened in stunned horror. "You knew what would happen before it did, and you gave him the spell, and I gave him Sarralyn…" She took a step back, barely breathing as she realised. He was playing us all along. He was waiting for this. He was in control of the whole thing, from the very beginning. He got everything he wanted, and we just played along thinking we were so clever, and all the time he was just pushing us in the direction he wanted us to go…

The memory still played out in the orb, and now Kyprioth had disappeared and Numair stood against the glass wall, staring out, breathing heavily in an attempt to calm himself down. When he could fake a convincing smile he took a deep breath and called out something- her name. Then she realised when this memory had taken place.

"If I die…" Da said, in the same strange voice he'd used when the gold man had yelled at him. Ma made an odd movement with her fingers and spoke in the quick breathy voice she only used when she was upset.

"Don't say that!"

"Oh grow up, magelet. Saying something out loud doesn't make it any more likely to happen, no matter which of the fates may be eavesdropping." Da's eyes flicked up for a moment to where the shiny man had been, but of course he was gone, and Ma didn't notice the gesture.

"He was trying to tell me." Daine stumbled and sat down suddenly, all the strength gone from her legs. The memory kept speaking, but she couldn't make herself look up at it. "He was saying goodbye. Oh gods…"

-Why are you showing me this? Why must you force me to hurt like this?- She cried out in silent anguish, her voice taken up by racking sobs that tore at her throat until it felt like it was bleeding. Perhaps she expected Ghada's voice, dutifully explaining about her Tay-Kiri, or Kyprioth himself laughing. She could imagine his words, or perhaps it was just the bitterness in her own mind mocking her, This is what it means to lose. Did you think it would only be your pride that would be hurt? Did you honestly think for a single second what it would truly mean to lose?

If I die, said Numair's memory, I don't want you to spend the rest of your life thinking, 'if only we'd tried this', or' perhaps this would have worked'. Believe me, if there was any other way to do this, I would have found it. I need to know that you believe that.

"I can't…" Daine sobbed, not knowing if she was talking to him or to herself. "I'm sorry, I c…can't. There must have been… we must have done something wrong…"

-I must take you away now, Arra-Daine.- Ghada's voice was uncertain, as if she didn't know what to do with a crying mortal. –The darkness will be here soon.-

Let it. Daine thought bitterly, and then Sarralyn made an odd noise and waved an arm outside her blanket. She blinked at the child for a second, feeling no care for this possessed creature who had stolen her love away, and then took one last look at the fading memory as the faces within it blurred into nothing.

-Yes.- She said, -Let's go.-

888


	46. Earth

Yjarr was a small fishing village, which up until today had been remarkable for only two things. The first was the strange durability of its citizens, who seemed immune to wars and immortal attacks in their sheltered bay of hard, merciless stone. The second was the unusually delicate taste of the mussels which the villagers gathered from the rocks, clambering up and down the cliffs as if they were born without the ability to fall, heedless of the tide crashing fifty feet below them. Because of the second remarkable thing, many lords had made it their business to ensure that the first was maintained at all costs. A small detachment of soldiers from the nearby keep dropped into the village more often than any of the other tithing farms in the land, and suppliers came directly from the palace stores to make sure that the molluscs weren't swapped at the last moment by grasping merchants. Throughout all this, the people of Yjarr drifted peacefully, happy in their lot and their simple life.

The shipwreck, then, caused a much larger upheaval than it would have done in another fishing village. Not that it was a normal shipwreck; they found the survivors gasping for breath and vomiting seawater among the crushing rocks when the tide retreated, but there was no sign of a boat or any wrecked timber. The men scratched their heads and shrugged. Sometimes, they guessed, the sea was just like that.

They took the survivors- a woman and a small child, and wasn't that a strange thing to find washed up on a spring shore!- to the headman's hut, and left them there in the village's one proper bed and waited patiently for them to either die or wake up. They had no healer to intervene either way, but they made sure the womenfolk dried both survivors as best they could, and that fresh water was poured down their throats. The baby woke up first, and cried, and the womenfolk took it away into their circle to be nursed and cared for while the woman recovered. Unlike the child it looked like she had been hurt: her shoulder was lacerated, and her head swollen and knotted around a livid bruise. The men assumed she'd fought off the rocks to protect her child, and respected her for it. They laid the warm, fed and happily sleeping infant in the bed next to the mother, but she turned away from it and covered her ears when it whimpered.

After a few days the woman woke up and looked around her, not seeming to see anything with any interest, but passively taking in her surroundings. Her silence fit the villagers well, although they were unusually curious about her. They let her walk from the house to the sea to stare at it for hours, ignoring the cries of her child until the other women took it away again.

They tried in vain to get her to speak, and indeed grew used to her silence as the days trickled by. The woman ate food as if it were ash, always staring into the distance as if she was trying to think of something that was just beyond her understanding.

The women who cared for the baby cooed over her in the evenings, wondering what her name was until their argument got quite loud in the peaceful hall.

"She should be an Annette. Look at that little smile. So like our Annie who… black gods rest her soul…"

"Annette? That spoiled brat of yours? Look at the way she holds onto that blanket, like auld Meggie when she's cold of a winter's night…"

"I'd call her Raven," a shy voice said, younger than the others, "Because she'n got such pretty black eyes…"

"Her eyes are blue." The voice was sharp in the sudden silence as all the women turned to gape at the silent girl, who glared at the baby as if it was a demon. "Not black. Blue. All their eyes were blue."

They didn't answer for a moment, stunned into silence as they marvelled at the girl's harsh, croaking words. Then the shy young girl stood up, biting her lip as she gently took the baby from one of the other women. She peered into the blanket and smiled, relieved at what she saw, and hesitantly carried the bundle over to the silent girl.

"No miss, look, her'n eyes are black, and so pretty! But she c'n be a bluebird if you want…"

The silent girl looked up, her expression almost mutinous, and then with a strange determination she snatched the baby away from the child and tore the blanket away. The other women gasped at this rough handling but didn't make a move, almost scared of the girl as she glared at the baby.

Then she gasped, half sobbed, and the determination faded away into giddy lethargy. "Her eyes aren't blue…" she whispered, and then started laughing. "She's herself. She's… she's his…"

The women hadn't come near the stranger in their midst before, not knowing how to speak to the silent one. But now they moved as one, a small crowd of caring eyes and warm embraces who surrounded the girl as she wept out a year of sorrows and fears into the soft downy hair of the girl who was now, finally, her daughter.

They never found out the strangers names, or their story. The girl left the next morning, carrying the baby easily and wearing the same salt-stained clothes she'd been found in, and without saying another word besides a sincere Thank-you. She walked along the well-beaten road that would eventually lead to Corus, following the trails the palace couriers and soldiers took, and didn't look back at the ocean.

Daine walked steadily for three days, barely noticing the miles slipping past. Compared to the mountains and biting cold of Tariro, walking through Tortall was like a stroll through parkland. Her mind was taken up with thoughts, and although she cared for her daughter dutifully she didn't speak to her, or to any of the people who shared the road with her. At night she would unstrap Sarralyn from her back and find herself staring at her, at her black eyes, wondering and hoping and wishing but not letting herself believe.

When she reached Corus the first thing she did, before she even went home, was call silently to Kitten and then wait outside the castle walls. It felt odd to be able to sit at the base of a tree and rest, knowing that there were no condors to swoop down and attack her, nor any divine plots to somehow trick her into cutting down the tree just to see if it held an answer. She wondered about that, as well. It didn't feel good, or bad, it just felt empty. She couldn't drink in the warm sunlight and enjoy being home, or look forward to seeing her friends again. She couldn't feel the things that were actually around her, because all she could think about were the things that should have been there, and weren't.

A confused whistle broke into her dark thoughts and she looked up, smiling at the familiar confused expression on the dragon's face. Seeing her again was the first warm shard that broke through the wall she'd built around her heart, and when she reached out and hugged the creature closely she had to stop herself from crying. She'd cried enough. If she started crying she might never stop. So she laughed shortly instead and tickled Kit's neck until the dragon got bored of the game and started asking serious questions with her eyes constantly flicking towards the bundle.

"Have a look." Daine said, not wanting to ask but having to, needing to know. "Tell me what you think."

Kit made a rude sound, like a snort, at her adopted mother's mysterious ways, but padded over to the bundle with obvious interest. She sniffed for a second at it and then looked around, her eyes wide and quizzical. When Daine just watched her, not reacting, the dragon whistled at the bundle and pulled the blanket away so she could see better.

Daine held her breath, knowing that the dragon could sense magic and that if the spell was still there, she would know. How would she react? This is what she needed to know, to make the thoughts go away. She had to be sure. If any part of the curse remained she had to know, to be ready to fight it off. If it had gone completely… she swallowed at the thought and kept on watching Kitten. If it had gone from Sarralyn, then perhaps… perhaps Numair…

Kitten looked in the blanket and squeaked excitedly, bounding a few steps around the bundle like a puppy until she managed, with an effort, to calm herself down. When she could move more evenly she reached into the bundle with one paw, gently tracing the shape of the sleeping baby's face, and nuzzling her affectionately. When Sarralyn opened her black eyes and focused on the dragon Daine froze, but Kit didn't seem to find anything wrong. Sarralyn laughed at the strange soft toy that was cuddling her, and patted the dragon clumsily with one podgy hand.

The ice around Daine's heart shattered, and she laughed out loud.

888

"I don't know what happened." Daine repeated herself in the same voice she'd used the last three times, refusing to allow herself to get angry. The king was getting frustrated enough for the both of them, messing his hair up after running his hands through it so many times.

"How can you not know? You were there! How did you even get back without their help?"

"I can't tell you." She said stonily, reciting another sentence she seemed to have used a thousand times in the past few hours. If she'd hoped Jon would simply accept her answers she was sorely wrong. She had barely had time to leave Sarralyn in Kitten's care in her rooms before she was summoned to report to the king, and now it was late afternoon and even though she'd told most of the story, they were no closer to understanding each other. Jon simply refused to accept that anyone would refuse to tell him anything. Daine would have kept silence about her deal with Kyprioth anyway, but she definitely didn't feel kindly enough towards the king to be helpful. She sighed, flexing her hands when she realised that being in the same room with him had made her curl them into fists, and interrupted his next deluge of pointless questions with a few short sentences.

"The spell was destroyed. The bandits can't use it anymore, and they're all in one tribe and not warring with each other. We did everything you wanted. Are we finished?"

"Are those immortals here?" Jon asked just as abruptly, changing the subject. Daine blinked and sat up straighter, not quite sure what he wanted to know until he continued, "If they're here, we need to prepare for them to attack."

"They won't attack." Daine said, laughing, "They're as innocent as children. Now that they don't have their minds poisoned by hundreds of years of being trapped and sacrificed to, they're just trying to find out what the world is really like. It will be years before they even learn how to speak again." The thought made her sober as she remembered the fading way Ghada had struggled to even say goodbye, and the way she eventually forgot that she was carrying a mortal on her back and simply drifted away with the tide, leaving Daine to swim for shore.

"And the… the Jofi?" Jon hesitated over the name, but the girl didn't bother to correct him.

"Last I saw them, they were all trapped in their magic forms because we smashed the statues, and the palace was falling down around them. There's not much chance they… they… got out of…" She bit her lip and tried again. "The water hurts them. They couldn't even swim out, like a human could."

"And who would have needed to swim out?" The question was gentle, but Daine shuddered at the thought and her voice came out half strangled.

"Everyone."

Jon was silent for a long moment. What could he say, when the leaden weight of death was so heavy between them? When he spoke again his voice held none of the easy command of a king, but was uncertain. "Daine…"

She looked up, her eyes clear and sharp. "Your majesty, do you know what Tariro means?"

"N…no?" He looked bewildered for a moment, and then sat down heavily, head in his hands. Daine kept speaking, obstinately saying her piece even though she could see how much her words bit into him. Some part of her relished every shudder. Another part of her hated herself.

"It was the first thing anyone told me, when you sent us away. A woman told me, a woman who was slaughtered by one of the creatures in the first attacks. I watched her die. But she said to me that Tariro is a word which means hope. Did you know that, you majesty? Because I didn't know that either. I really didn't know what she meant. My whole life had been torn away from me, so I didn't see how hoping would really make it better.

And, you know, I'm much better at doing things than thinking about them. I saw that the city was cursed, so I tried to fix it. I didn't think hope had much place in that, either. What's the point in sitting around hoping when you can be fighting for the change you want? But all the time, all the time I was longing to come back home, back here, and have my name and my life back. And I never thought that I was hoping for it, because I just kind of assumed that everything would turn out okay. After all, we were fighting so hard, and we risked so much, and we never betrayed who we were, even to each other, until it was far too late for it to make any difference. But it didn't work.

I hoped the people we were fighting for would understand, but they were quicker to find poison and form lynch mobs than they were to help us. They blackmailed us and lied to us and even threatened an innocent child, all to stop us from helping them. Do you understand what Tariro means yet, your majesty? Hope isn't what you take with you, it's what Tariro strips away. Layer… by… layer. Piece by piece, it disappears, and all you have left is the sick laughter of a power-crazed god and a few memories to report back. I can't hope."

She stopped speaking abruptly and looked up, her eyes almost burning in their strange mixture of anger and indifference. When she took a breath Jon thought she might contradict herself, but instead she repeated herself with more surety: "I can't hope, because I can't remember how. It's just as likely that everyone is dead and that they're never coming back.

But you know, Numair could always hope, right until the end. He took that spell into himself because he hoped it would solve things, and because he hoped it would protect us all. He never stopped believing that what you sent us to do was right, was important, was worth risking everything for, and that it was possible. When he was with me that was enough; he believed in it so strongly that I believed it too. I can't believe in hope any more, but I could always believe in him. And now… and now he's likely gone too. And I won't sit here talking to you, saying, "perhaps they're alive, perhaps they survived, perhaps…" when I promised him that I wouldn't."

"Don't you want them to come back?" Jon asked, sounding stunned. Daine took a breath, and for the first time it hitched in her throat.

"Of course I do! With all my heart. But I won't fool myself into the hurt of hoping for it. It will either happen or it won't."

"Daine…" Jon started again, and this time he managed to finish the thought, or at least express a passionate jumble of words. "I'm so sorry. If I'd known… I mean, what it was truly like there and… that you and Numair… that… that you were…"

"Then you'd have sent someone else." Daine finished the sentence flatly, and made a strange gesture which Jon couldn't read at all. "Would they have deserved exile any more than we did, your majesty? Perhaps you might have been less embarrassed by them when they left."

He blinked, taken aback, and tried to reform his thoughts. "But that isn't…"

"It doesn't matter." The girl smiled, and for a moment Jon could see the pain clearly written behind her eyes. Just as quickly, it was eclipsed by a flash of dark humour. "I suspect Kyprioth had a hand in all this from the very beginning, anyway. It would be his way." She stood up, brushing off her legs unconsciously as if she was used to being around dust, and asked if there was anything else he wanted before she left.

"I'll pray for him. For all of them. We've been… even since you left…" Jon said abruptly. This time Daine's odd humour broke through into a giddy laugh.

"Pray to who? There's only one god who has any say on that damned island, and I'm sure as sugar he's not listening to any of us."

888


	47. Tiwala

Daine had thought it might stop terrifying her, but it still made her heart race. The toddler staggered at top speed across the grass, and the dragon chased her with playful slowness until Sarralyn stumbled over and fell into the soft grass. Before she could dissolve into a flood of self-pitying tears, Kit bounded on top of her and rolled around with her, startling a giggle from the little girl until all hurt was forgotten. Then Sa was off again, her gait already stronger than last time as she slowly found her balance. The dragon gave her a few moments' head start, resting with comical weariness, until darting up and following with a joyful chirp.

"Be gentle, Kit!" Daine called out, more as a reminder than as a reprimand. The dragon called back in a rude snort- a noise Sarralyn had already managed to copy down to a fine art- and carried on playing.

Daine laughed quietly and returned to her work: a small herd of ponies had been released into open pasture in the languid heat, and had all managed to catch mites at the same time. That was their story, at least- they'd asked a passing wood pigeon to fetch the wildmage to them, and as soon as she'd arrived had surrounded her, demanding the most recent gossip from the Riders. Daine laughed and thanked them for getting her away from the barracks for a day, and then sternly told them that since she was here she would check their hooves and ears anyway, just in case. They grumbled but submitted with good will, knowing that gossip was always better when waited for. They also took the time to watch Sarralyn and Kitten closely, forming a safe wall of hooves around the patch of soft grass they played on. The toddler didn't seem at all disturbed by the huge animals, and often had to be turned around by a nudge from a soft nose to make her lose interest in poking their wiry ankles. She laughed when they snorted at her.

-Is your foal like you, Daine?- one of the ponies asked, shifting her weight so the girl could pick up her hoof to check for lodged stones. Daine thought about it for a moment, and then answered honestly.

"I don't know. She had all her magic taken away from her six months ago, and I don't know what she might have if… I mean, when it grows back. She might be like me, she might be like her da." She glanced at the toddler, who was trying to feed Kitten a daisy, and smiled gently. "Or she might have no magic at all. As long as she's happy, what does it matter?"

Kitten blew the petals from the daisy as if it were a birthday candle, and Sarralyn cooed in disappointment. Not to be discouraged, she found another daisy and offered it with a determined scowl which clearly said you will eat this to her playmate. Kitten sighed dramatically, licked the daisy and snapped it from its stem, blowing a cloud of petals out of her jaws rather than swallowing it. Sarralyn clapped happily and cuddled the dragon.

-She is like you, though.- The pony said placidly, watching the exchange with amusement. Daine grinned at the barbed compliment and patted the pony's side, standing up straight to find her next patient.

It was late afternoon before she'd checked all the ponies; as hardy as they were, they had barely noticed the small scrapes and bites which were in danger of being infected in the muggy late summer heat. Daine took no chances; it didn't take much magic to chase away the infection, just time, and she had plenty of that. Sarralyn had dozed off with Kitten curled around her, pillowing her head and shoulders, and the ponies had settled down into a peacefully drifting clan. When they saw that Daine had finished her work they asked her to stay and tell stories, and when she sat down in the grass with them they whickered their happiness.

It was good to be outside, when the air smelled of warm heather and sharp leaf-mould, and the sweetness of the stream the ponies drank from sang in the breeze. After a while the chatter of the ponies faded to sleepy silence as one by one they fell asleep. The night wasn't cold when it fell, and Daine decided she would rather stay outside and drink in this peaceful dream than disturb Sarralyn just to return to the bustle of the hot palace. She curled herself around her daughter and dragon and dreamed of summer.

When she woke up the world was blue, the strange cold blue that lies to those who awaken early on warm mornings and makes the dew shimmer in the air. Her shirt sleeves and legs were damp from the dew, but when she checked Sarralyn was warm and dry, protected by the loving circle of arms and scales that she'd slept in. Daine smiled and sat up slowly, not wanting to disturb her family or the ponies who would obstinately sleep until the sun rose, thank you very much! When she moved a weight slid off her back. She caught whatever it was and frowned- she hadn't brought a blanket with her, and this looked like a cloak…

"Good morning," A voice said softly, almost carried on the breeze. Daine froze and looked around, her eyes growing almost impossibly wide in the half-light as she strained to see…

"I didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful. But it was colder this morning, and it seems you've still not learned to wear a cloak unless it's absolutely pouring with rain."

Daine smiled irresistibly, unable to stop the rush of pure joy that flooded through her, making her fingertips tingle so much that she had to drop the cloak from trembling hands. She still couldn't see him, and some part of her couldn't believe that this was truly happening. "Is this a dream?" She asked, her voice shaking, "Are you going to vanish when the sun rises? You've done it before, you know."

"Well, I wasn't planning on it. I've already had a long journey, and it would be rather irksome to have to continue it on the whims of the sun, don't you think?"

"It is you!" Daine laughed out loud and then clapped her hands over her face, unable to quieten herself. The sun had started rising in earnest now, and the blue light was slowly being taken over by a rich red, which lit up a familiar lanky silhouette as it leaned against the next tree. "Only you would say something so odd and make it sound so clever!"

"Yes, it's me. I made sure of that." Numair seemed like he was about to say something else, but stopped when Daine threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him so tightly it was almost painful.

"You need to stop making me think you're dead." Her voice sounded muffled, half full of tears and joy. She could hear the surprised rumble of his laugh deep in his chest.

"Well, I could say the same thing to you, sweetling. You vanished! We only found out you were here when…" he stopped talking, his train of thought trailing off as he ran a hand through her hair. His voice sounded almost wondering. "I can't believe I found you."

"Who told you I was here?" Daine asked the boring question to try to get her voice under control; it still felt like it was trembling its way into silence. She couldn't see Numair rolling his eyes, but she knew him well enough to guess that was what he'd automatically do.

"One of the riders, as soon as we got into Corus and they recognised me… but you know that's not what I meant! Kypri… well, you could have been taken anywhere in the world, to Carthak or the Yamani Islands, or to some god-forgotten oasis in the middle of the desert, or a desert island in the middle of the sea. I was expecting a trick so avidly that I never thought he might actually honour his agreement."

"He left it to Ghada." Daine said, and this time the odd memory made her bubbling voice quieten enough to speak evenly. "She was meant to leave me in the city under the lake, I think, but she didn't understand him properly so she brought me here."

"Thank the gods." Numair's voice was fervent and he hugged her tighter, but Daine pulled a face.

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you." She reached up and stroked the hair back from his forehead, wanting to see his eyes. "You found me. You. You defended us, and survived, and you healed, and you came back home, and you found me. I think that's fair wondrous enough without bringing the gods into it!"

"It was an idiom, sweetling. Just something people say."

"Well, people are idiots." She laughed at his expression. "There, I'm already confusing words. Are you convinced I'm really me, now?"

"Miss Sarrasri, there is no-one in the world like you. No-one else even comes close." The mischief in his voice faded as he traced the shape of her face with his fingertips, as if he was reminding himself of the shape of her eyes, the tint in her skin, the curve of her cheeks. Daine shivered deliciously and when he reached her mouth she caught his hand, kissed it, and then reached up to kiss him properly. You're not a shade, she thought, wondering how she could ever confuse the fleeting shadows in her dreams with the rich warmth of being held so closely, the gentle but sure way his hands knew every part of her body just as her hands knew his, the softness of his hair when she tangled her fingertips in it to pull him closer. Her dreams never left her this breathless, never felt so much like drowning, but a kind of drowning where she didn't care if she never drew breath again.

She hadn't seen the scar that was hidden under his hair, but when she ran her fingers down the side of his neck she felt the odd raised bumps of a newly-healed wound. She recognised Elan's claw marks and shuddered, and Numair abruptly pulled away. She opened her mouth to explain, but he was frowning at something else, his fingertips gently touching the nape of her head.

"Did I do this?" He demanded, his voice suddenly dark. Daine blinked, not thinking of an answer quickly enough, and he cursed and let go of her. "Daine, I won't… If you want me to leave, to go away, please tell me now."

"Leave?" Daine rubbed the back of her head, feeling the raised line that was her own reminder of that final battle and suddenly realising what was wrong. Her words sounded too bright, even to her own ears. "Why in the name of all the gods would I ever want that?"

"Because you can't trust me." The words came out in a rush; he'd clearly been dwelling on them, practicing. "I don't know what I did when I was… well, I can't remember anything past Elan grabbing you. But Alanna said I attacked you, and then you disappeared, and I... I thought I'd…"

"You stopped yourself." Daine whispered, hurting at the strangeness in his voice. "You stopped yourself for long enough. And then Kyprioth arrived and took it from you, like you agreed. You didn't hurt me."

"Liar." Numair smiled wryly and looked away. "Did you know, magelet, that the Johi have no memories? They think of everything in emotions. I can't remember anything that happened, not as actions or words, but I can remember the emotions- how it felt to want to kill you, and Sarralyn. And… and I can remember how it felt when… this sick, horrible glee when I… no. I can't describe it. But… what if I'd actually… if I'd… I can't possibly justify coming back to you without telling you, without you understanding…"

"…without you tearing yourself to pieces with guilt?" Daine said, exasperated. "Numair, Kyprioth tricked both of us. He showed me. He's the one who was behind everything, right from the start. You told me off once for apologising to you and saying what if, what if, do I have to tell you the same thing?"

He smiled slowly, but still with a trace of bitterness. Daine moved closer again, just shy of touching him, because as much as she wanted to she knew it wouldn't help. "You've had a lot of time to think, then." She said slowly, waiting for his nod. "Yes, me too. It's difficult, isn't it? We can't make everything go away. And I don't know if we should try."

"I don't know what you mean." Numair's voice was gentle, wary, as if he was still expecting to be rejected. The girl smiled and reached forward to stroke his cheek.

"I mean, dearest one, that I love you. I love you so much that however many questions you ask me, I won't even have to think about my answer, because it's already a part of me. Even if you are a wraith who's going to vanish into the dawn, I don't care, because I love you just as you are now, even with that strange line between your eyes that you get when you think I'm lying to you. I know you as well as my own mind, and I trust you more than I trust my heart to keep beating. I can't accept you back because I never let go of you in the first place." She kissed him briefly, tasting salt and not knowing if she was crying or he was, but that didn't matter.

It was some time later before either of them could really speak again. The sun had nearly clipped the edge of the trees, creeping sharp fingers of golden light across the shining grass. They watched it in silence, curled up in each other's' arms like sleeping children, lost in their own thoughts and in their shared secrets until the sounds of the awakening ponies broke through the spell.

"If you didn't know I was here, why did you come back to Tortall?" Daine asked.

"Tyro needed supplies to rebuild the city." Numair said automatically, "And we'd already delayed the boat as long as we could to give people the chance to stock it up properly and decide whether they wanted to come back here or not."

"Did they?" Daine was genuinely curious, and when Numair shook his head she was oddly relieved.

"No. They're finally getting a chance to rebuild. Without the Johi there they can live in the city, and farm the mountains, and see the sunlight. And without Elan's mob running around bullying people it actually feels like a town now, not a tribe of bandits. But Tyro can tell you about it, he's very excited and tells everyone he meets."

"Tyro's here, too?" Daine smiled widely and glanced down the hill towards the distant city. "Good! I have something tell him."

"Really?" Numair raised an eyebrow. Daine nodded, her face serious even as her eyes danced playfully.

"Well, yes! When I first met him he asked me to tell him my real name, and I said I would when everything was over. And now it is! So I have to see him, you see, and tell him that my real name is Veralidaine Salmalin." Daine smiled inwardly at the expression on Numair's face at that, finding it difficult to keep her face serious when it was so, so wonderful to see him.

"Daine…" he said slowly, his eyes laughing, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, mister mage, that if you don't ask me to marry you in the next twenty seconds, I'll march straight back through this forest without you and be forced to tell your friend a lie."

"I believe that's called 'entrapment'." He said wryly, and rubbed his temple thoughtfully. When he looked up he had the same serious expression that she did, but his eyes were shining. "Twenty seconds, you said?"

"You might be down to fifteen by now."

"I don't believe you would actually march off. You're bluffing, magelet."

Daine folded her arms in mocking defiance. "More fool you!"

"Fifteen seconds isn't a long time. I had a whole speech prepared, you know."

"It's more like ten by now, isn't… wait, what?" Daine blinked, and Numair grinned, happy at having gained the upper hand.

"Well, I call it a speech, but I guess it would take me a lot longer than fifteen seconds to say it. I was sitting awake here last night, trying to think of a way to tell you what you mean to me, to show you how much I love you, but fifteen seconds would scarcely suffice. I think it will take me the rest of my life to tell you everything I want to say. So perhaps it's not really a speech… but in fifteen seconds I can show you how it begins." He kissed her then, so tenderly that all the playfulness fell away.

It wasn't seconds, but long minutes later, when one of the ponies woke up with a snort and startled them apart. Daine laughed softly.

"You don't have to marry me if you don't want to." She murmured, touching the end of his nose with a fingertip. "I was only teasing."

"Well, I wasn't." He said, his voice odd. "Daine… Veralidaine Sarrasri, will you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?"

She suddenly couldn't speak, because her throat felt too tight to make a sound, and if she said a word she would surely start crying. But she nodded and smiled and kissed him with tears in her eyes. She gasped when Numair abruptly stood up, lifting her as easily as a kitten and laughing at her surprise.

"What are you doing?" She asked, laughing and pretending to struggle. He stopped her wriggling with a fleeting kiss.

"Do you really think I'm going to let you go? Now? After all the months it's taken me to find you?!" He laughed and spun around on the spot. "Not to mention all the years it's taken for you to agree to marry me!"

She mock-glared at him. "Are you going to gloat all the way back to Corus, Numair?"

"Gloating? I'm celebrating!" He retorted, aloof, and then grinned. "But yes, definitely."

"In that case, I'm glad you'll be carrying Sa and Kit, too. You'll be too worn out to speak. You won't make it twenty paces."

"The lady makes a fair point." Numair sighed like a player and made as if to put her down, before surprising her with a last kiss, his voice growing warm. "Perhaps I should save my strength."

"Perhaps." Daine echoed, and smiled slowly.

It was when they were walking down the trail together towards their home that Numair started talking about Tariro again, describing with some wonder about how the spring had turned the barren land into an almost perfect haven of plants and sweet rain. Herds of sheep had been found in the lower hills, and now that they could fish in the lake the people were nearly growing fat from the bounty. They had gathered enough stores for the winter and to trade in a few short months, before they'd even harvested the fields of grain that had sprung up on the volcanic slopes.

"Do you think Kyprioth had something to do with it?" Daine asked, her own voice awed. Numair shrugged.

"We haven't seen him since… well, he got what he wanted, so I guess there was no reason for him to hang around. They worship all the gods there now, just like in Tortall. But it's strange. They've renamed the island, after everything that happened there. Tyro says, they're done hoping, it's time to put their faith in each other! So they've called it Tiwala instead, which means 'trust'."

"Tiwala…" Daine said the word softly, as if she was tasting it. "Yes, I like that. It's much better."

"But Daine…" Numair stopped walking suddenly and turned to look at her, trying to gage her reaction. "Daine, how would you feel if I said we should go back there?"

"Go back?" She echoed the words automatically, not sure what she thought at all. He nodded quickly.

"As ourselves, not as made-up people playing someone else's stupid game. As proper people. There's so much we could do there, Daine, and now that they're not tribes any more they're so different. Tyro explained everything to them after the island crumbled into the lake, and they want so much for us to be a part of this. This rebuilding, the… the creation of a new country."

"Go back…" Daine repeated, her eyes distant.

"I'm not saying it'll be easy, but we'd both get bored without hard work, right? I mean, the flocks are all so wild they even run from extra fodder, and we've come to buy horses and ponies, and they'll need caring for too. And they need a mage… I mean, my magic is still quite weak since Kyprioth took it away, but I do what I can, and it's all helping, and everything that you do makes a difference now. And Alanna says George is already working on setting up a trade route, so there'll be a constant stream of boats and new people and we still haven't worked out who Keith was spying for, so…"

"Numair," Daine smiled flatly, "Stop talking, please! I can't even listen as fast as you can speak!"

She looked at the path she was treading on, and then down at the quiet town they were walking towards, and across at the serene skies, and thought about the last six months of training students to ride their ponies. Some of them still couldn't remember her name, and still sat like sacks of potatoes. She looked down at Sarralyn, who was still fast asleep, wrapped snugly against the early morning cold in Numair's cloak, and thought about all the people who had known and loved her daughter since the day she was born. She thought about what she'd said to Jonathan, and how she still couldn't speak to the king without clenching her fists, and how Tiwala made so much more sense than Tariro, because who had ever managed to build anything at all just by hoping for it?

She looked up at the man she was going to marry, and thought about how much she loved him, and realised that some things were so important that everything else just fades into nothing. The answer was so easy she was surprised it had taken her that long to think about it.

"When do we leave?" Daine asked. And she smiled, and saw her love reflected in his eyes. 

_Tiwala._


End file.
